


Cowboy Jones: Origins of Life

by AdamantEve



Series: Cowboy Jones [6]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Space, F/M, Inpired by Cowboy Bebop, Inspired by Firefly, Lesbian Relationships, Mentions of Slavery, Mentions of addiction, Mentions of alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Space Cowboy, aro-ace Jellybean, bounty hunter jughead, gay relationships, mechanic betty, mentions of mental abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantEve/pseuds/AdamantEve
Summary: With Betty and Jughead’s engagement providing a much needed light at the end of what was a very dark and winding tunnel, everyone is “enthusiastic” to be part of this joyous affair, but strong personalities in one room can complicate the simplest of endeavors.Or the Coopers and Joneses are gonna be in laws.





	1. The Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully lighter than the previous offerings in this series.

Betty prided herself on her independence and her ability to turn misery into hours of production. She learned that she was a champion at this when Jughead first got shipped off, and then went missing.

When in the throes of missing someone to the point of pain, she worked with a vengeance, most especially when the fruits of her labor was finding the very person she missed.

Distraction or working towards a goal was key, and in the twelve weeks she found herself separated from Jughead to be with her family in Anglia, _much_ was done.

Aside from tidying up her personal assets and finances, and spending hours virtually working on her engine, she worked tirelessly to put away her father and the corrupt officials at the ESDC.

The emotional toll of fighting both her father and the ESDC officials were oppressive. It kept her up nights with her family. It sent her to bed in tears, and it forced her to confront the disturbing truth that her father’s obsessions ran deep, especially for her.

In court, where most attendants appeared in virtual reality for both safety and expediency, he comported himself on the stand with charm and measured grace. He almost seemed likeable and for a while, Betty and her siblings were concerned that he was going to get away with murder.

Alice didn’t think he could keep it up and she was right.

The moment Jughead took the stand, Hal Cooper lost it. It was Hal’s charm versus Jughead’s Def Cor honor.

Next to Jughead’s calm conviction, Hal starkly resembled a snake oil salesman, and when it became apparent that Hal was being outclassed, he predictably lashed out, his entire facade crumbling in the twisted reality that in the battle for Betty he believed he was waging, he had lost.

When the verdict was drawn ten weeks after the trial first began, the jury proclaimed Hal “Guilty.” Betty’s relief was second only to finding Jughead in the detainment cells in Kestra Prime, and however poised her siblings and mother were, they, too, wept with relief.

Chic had been complaining for twelve weeks straight how being sober for all of it sucked, but Betty did notice that the frequency of his complaints, as the weeks wore on, lessened considerably. She liked to think that it was because being cooped up with his family, he had, just like the rest of them, been forced to interact on an unavoidably personal level, and that what he found was enlightening--perhaps even pleasing.

She had learned more things about her family the last twelve weeks than she had in the last eight years, when they had steadily drifted into a kind of familial apathy. Even Alice, who was always so difficult and emotionally walled off, gave a little.

“I can’t help but feel like I should’ve know what your father was capable of, sooner,” she admitted one night, halfway through an entire bottle of wine. “But he and I haven’t been emotionally involved for over a decade. I hardly knew him anymore. Apart from finances and the running of the company, we didn’t give two shits about each other.”

Betty had found that incredibly sad, more so when she realized that Alice’s emotional shutdown was a direct result of shielding herself from Hal and finding ways to protect her children. There was more to learn about Alice, but Betty acknowledged that her mother would have to take that wall down, first.

Her favorite moments, she had to admit, were when Polly was working and she and Chic had to take care of the twins.  Polly was CEO and Chairman of the Board of Cooper Gestalt now, and with all the things happening with Hal, she was working tirelessly just to keep the company afloat. So while she attended virtual meetings and made stock-impacting decisions, Betty spent time with her brother, niece, and nephew along the beaches of Anglia.

Their bodyguards lurked in the distance, vigilant and intimidating, but unobtrusive enough that Betty and Chic could have long conversations about hopes, dreams, regrets, and the immediate future.

It was nice to get to know Chic again, and to remember that growing up, Chic took good care of her, because she was his baby sister.

“So Jones popped the question, eh?” he had said in one of their first beachy, babysitting outings. He had looked at the ring on her finger. “Mom noticed it the other night and refused to believe it. Polly said she wasn’t going to fuss about it until you told us. I figured this is the best time to bring it up.”

Betty had smiled, then, relishing the memories of Jughead’s proposal and the week leading up to their separation. “The engagement makes me happy. I didn’t want it getting tainted by all this shit. I’m not hiding it. I’d just rather talk about it at a better time.”

Chic had waved at the view of the beautiful beach and the twins calmly playing in the sand.  “This seems like a better time, if temporary.”

And it was a better time, and she told Chic some of the plans she and Jughead had made for the ceremony. “After all the stuff with dad and the ESDC settles down, we want to get married in the City of a Thousand Veils in Bal Athuria. It’s such a beautiful, calm place. We don’t want anything fancy at all.”

Chic had laughed, perhaps amused by the idea that Polly and Alice would let her get away with “we don’t want anything fancy at all,” but he did not say anything to contradict her. He simply said, “I’m really happy for you, sis. I like Jughead a lot. Are you at least going to let me walk you down the aisle?”

She did get emotional about that. She hadn’t expected that he would ask, and maybe she had thought she would have to walk _herself_ down the aisle, which was fine, but in light of Chic asking, she vehemently nodded and gave her big brother a tight embrace, telling him, “Yes, please.”

She talked to Jughead constantly, of course. The comm allowed for constant conversation. They messaged one another about the stupidest things and they commed, daily, more than once a day, for mundane matters like, “How much flour should I put in if I want the cookies to be chewy?”

Little June had become so familiar with Jughead’s face on the comm that when Betty mentioned Jughead in casual conversation, June would point to any blank screen.

Twelve weeks apart, she and Jughead naturally got frisky. They put in considerable hours using the comm for x-rated purposes. They both found themselves channelling their inner pornstars, which they only dared because they were on a completely secure network.

Betty couldn’t imagine surviving another explicit sex video scandal before her wedding.  

All in all, at the end of twelve weeks, they were triumphant, but exhausted. The ESDC trial wasn’t completely resolved, but Jughead had done his part in it, and all they were waiting for was the end of the trials and the verdict.

A lot did rest on the generals being pronounced “guilty,” but it was out of their hands at this point. The good news was that there was a lot of pressure for the ESDC to make things right, and that rival generals had taken over the spots that had been recently vacated by the generals on trial, so the ESDC wanted that guilty verdict as much as Betty and Jughead did.

**********************

Betty was ready to go back to the Wyrm, and Chic and Alice were ready to take a vacation.  Polly, too, wanted to take a three-day break, before jumping back into her corporate conquest.

“So are you vacationing together?” Betty had asked Chic and Alice as she stood poised to climb the House of the Dead’s gangplank.

They had both laughed like she was crazy.

“Fuck no,” Chic scoffed.

“Oh, don’t be indelicate, Charles,” Alice said, loftily, though with none of the venom she would have used with Betty or Polly. “But no, Elizabeth, we’re not vacationing together. I’ll be taking a couple of weeks in the vineyards of Ankhor Phat. I have no idea where Chic is going. Hopefully somewhere he can stay sober.”

“Said the woman who is going to a vineyard,” Chic drawled with a quiet sneer.

Alice merely gave a huff. Such was Chic’s privilege with their mother.

Enabled, he went on. “As a matter of fact, I do intend to stay sober--my vacation is a pretentious white dude adventurer’s dream, hiking through the mountains of Tibet, so I’ll ask no one to judge.”

Betty’s brows furled in worry. “Are you sure that’s a good idea--”

“I’ll have the most expensive and authentic spirit guide to escort me, so you don’t have to worry about me falling off a rock face. He’s also sponsor approved, so you can rest easy.”

She was still skeptical, and she made a note to speak to Chic about this magical, spiritual vacation of his again.

“Don’t think we aren’t talking about your wedding, Elizabeth,” Alice said, cutting through the discussion. “It felt ghastly to discuss the engagement while we were in the middle of that mess with your father, but with Hal put away, I do plan on going through the motions of a young couple, such as yourselves, marrying for--of all things, love.”

Betty had groaned and Chic could hardly keep himself from laughing.

“Be quiet, Elizabeth. God forbid, it’s entirely inappropriate to have a big wedding bonanza after that legal dreadfulness. We’re keeping it low key and tasteful--just the basics. First thing’s first: we must have a properly appointed dinner with the in-laws. _All_ of them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I didn’t raise you in a trailer park.”

_“Mother!”_

“And then I’ll have to find a wedding coordinator that doesn’t mind travelling so far to meet with you--”

“There will be no wedding coordinator.”

“There will. You will have a perfectly elegant wedding, no matter how intimate it is, and please, if you’re going to invite people named Sweet Pea, at least write their real names on the invitations and placeholders.”

Betty got so incensed that she told her mother that they didn’t do placeholders at the local Snake Pit. She said this as she hurried up the gangplank to board.

Alice had looked properly outraged and knew just enough about Betty to suppose that she could quite possibly be serious. “Don’t you dare, Elizabeth!”

Luckily, the doors to the House of the Dead were already closing and Alice had no recourse but to direct all her rage at Betty through text messages, all of which Betty easily deleted.

***********************

The next three days were spent flying in the House of the Dead, and while Malachi flirted and made inappropriate jokes--not at all deterred by the ring on her finger, which he already knew was there since last flying with them, Betty spent most of her hours talking to all the members of the ship, but it was her conversation with Harvey that struck her as memorable.

“Stuff with your dad all done?” Harvey had asked her.

“Yes, hopefully. There’s some sentencing that still needs concluding, but he’s already put away, and that’s basically that for him.”

“That sounds great, Betty. And the ESDC stuff? What do you think?”

She nodded, throwing him a look of understanding. “I believe that’s going to take a while longer, but those generals are going away, Harvey.  More evidence is being uncovered by the GBI everyday. You’ll be able to go home, soon.”

Harvey seemed calm, accepting of the outcome. “I kinda like space. I’m not hankering to go home just yet, so I’m fine. Besides, out here, I get to see Sabrina more regularly. I just--I guess I want justice. For all of us. It’s like--until the tribunal says ‘guilty’, I’m holding my breath.”

“I know.” And she did know. She had that feeling, too, and she knew that Jughead thought about it, daily. She knew he talked to his therapist about it, too. There needed to be some form of retribution and closure, so he could fully look forward and plan his life. “Major Weatherbee said there’s already talk of the ESDC and Alliance Peacekeepers mounting an all-out assault and rescue campaign at Kestra Prime. Servicemen are signing up for the cause. Is that something you might want to do?”

Harvey had looked at her like she had given him a new purpose in life. “For real? That would be--I _need_ that, Betty. I’m going to call my squad leader first thing, tomorrow.”

“You should. I’m told commanding officers who sign up will be asked to contact their squads, but it’s best to let your commanding officer know you’re interested.”

“Is the Cap--you know?” Harvey had an inkling on how things went down for Jughead. They were soldiers. They’d seen it happen countless times to others.

Betty took a deep breath, feeling that twinge of compassion for Jughead. “It’s complicated at the moment. For one, he can’t go as an ESDC pilot anymore, even if he wanted to. He’d been given an honorable discharge by the ESDC--got his Purple Heart a couple of weeks back.”

“Oh.”

Betty could see it--the understanding in Harvey’s eyes that while Jughead had been given a proper and well-deserved sendoff, it was still a bittersweet way to go. She remembered Jughead telling her over the comm that they were giving him the Purple Heart. He seemed resigned rather than relieved, and for his sake, she acknowledged his mixed feelings.

The honorable discharge meant he would get his pension and benefits as a veteran of the ESDC. It meant the ESDC was grateful for what he did for them, that he deserved the full support of the ESDC for the rest of his life, but the Purple Heart was also telling him that it was time for him to go, to rest, because his mind wasn’t in its best shape to serve anymore. Jughead had expected it, accepted it, even, because he was going through a lot and he knew he still had a lot of therapy to push through, but it stung, nonetheless. His pride, his independence, and his strength felt diminished, somehow.

Betty had listened and understood, but she also knew that he needed to expel the negative thoughts in his head to see that this outcome was very positive, that this wasn’t so much a rejection as it was the ESDC taking care of him and making up for what its generals did to him.

With everything that was happening--the court martials and the GBI, she had been pleased at how the ESDC was showing its total rejection of what its corrupt generals had done, and how they were going out of their way to make up for it with the servicemen who survived and the ones who perished in _Ascension._ Jughead just had to pick his way to that headspace, and that was going to take time.  

“They didn’t just surprise him with it,” Betty explained. “They talked to him, and he talked to the ESDC therapist, too, who gave his recommendation to the Def Cor.”

She and Jughead talked about how his reserve status was coming to an end anyway, and he’d done his duty.

“It probably isn’t a good idea for him to go back into _that_ particular warzone, anyway,” Harvey grumbled. The look in his eyes suggested that he wasn’t too keen about it, either. Even if Harvey appeared to have gotten out of that experience in better shape, Betty had no clue what was going on in Harvey’s head.

Betty nodded. “Perhaps. On the other hand, Jughead might look to other possibilities. Alliance Peacekeepers have a Vet Division, as you probably know, where volunteer veteran servicemen can throw in their hats during conflicts like this. He could easily hop in through there and help, but he’s working on being okay with the fact that he can’t right now.”

Harvey’s nod of understanding was reflected in the compassion in his eyes. “Yeah. They did a number on Cap over at Kestra Prime. He was our leader and they saw it, so they--well, you probably know all that by now.”

Talking with Harvey and not having to explain too many things was a relief that Betty hadn’t known she needed. She had struggled to make her family understand what Jughead went through, without making them think that Jughead was a trembling, screaming ball of trauma. Talking to Harvey about Jughead was so much easier. “He can still contribute to the effort, though. Eventually, he will, when he can responsibly say he’s better. The campaign will likely need escort pilots to fly victims from the refugee camps back to their homeworlds. He loves to fly, and he likes protecting people. It’ll be good for him, too.”

Refugee transport, Betty found out, was a perilous task, given that slave traders were everywhere in the galaxy. Slave traders liked the idea of having a group of helpless beings all packaged and ready for the taking, so if rescuers weren’t vigilant, they were easy pickings. Fighter escorts were employed specifically to protect the rescue train and that endeavor was right up Jughead’s skill set. His trauma had affected him in many ways, but flying a fighter craft was a talent burned into his bones, so deeply ingrained in him that nothing had touched it.

“I hadn’t known the cap for long,” Harvey said, quietly. “But the little time that I did, I always felt looked out for when he was around. When I met Sweet Pea and the rest of the Def Cor vets on your team, I realized that’s how he was as a person. That’s why they never stopped calling him Cap. That’s why I’ll always trust him.”

Betty wasn’t exactly the type to get overly emotional about things in general, but she was always so soft about Jughead, and hearing Harvey talk about Jughead this way made her eyes sting and her heart swell with incredible pride. “Yes. That’s how he is. That’s Juggie.”

At that point Harvey chuckled. “And I’ll never get over the fact that he lets you call him Juggie.”

She laughed, realizing that she was the only one who could get away with it. Even Malachi didn’t dare.

Harvey left that conversation visibly buoyed and Betty realized that Jughead’s impact on him was far deeper than she first thought. It was true what he said. Jughead took care of the people around him. He protected them. And nobody ever forgot that.

 

******************

 

She missed holding Jughead so much that it woke her up at night.

So on the day the House of the Dead was to rendezvous with the Whyte Wyrm, she was glowing, floating around the ship with almost unbearable glee.

“I’m so excited! I get to be back at the Wyrm today!” she squealed.

“Yes, we know. Heard you the first ten times,” someone, usually Shelly May, would say.

By the time cargo hold annexation commenced, Betty was buzzing, all her luggage strategically draped and clasped on her body so she could simply run across the cargo hold and not have to look back.

She made sure she had given her proper goodbyes and thanks to the House crew, knowing that she couldn’t possibly be mindful of anyone when she saw her Joneses.

“Unlock it,” Betty told Malachi impatiently as she stood waiting with them at the cargo hold. “Unlock it, now.”

“Jeez, take it easy, blondie,” Malachi said, grinning insufferably as he took his sweet time.

Behind them, Ibarra groaned. “Jesus Christ, Mal. Just put her out of her misery already.”

“Let’s see if she pulls a gun on him,” Shelly May teased.

Betty threw Shelly May a withering look. “Alright guys, I get it. You know I love you all, right? Even you, Mal.”

“I know, blondie. How about a kiss? Just one.”

“Eat shit, Martinez.”

He laughed and turned the lock.

As soon as bay doors cleared, Betty shot through the fog. She didn’t even think that she could trip over cargo—she could’ve, but she didn’t care. All she knew was Jughead was at the other side of it and she wasn’t going to waste a second.

 

*******************

 

He heard her voice through the fog and the amount of delight that it gave him was ridiculous, even to him, but he’d been waiting for this day _feverishly_ since she told him she was finally coming home two weeks ago.

When she emerged from the clouds of smoke, the joy on her face made him feel like he could relive his entire life all over again if he knew that he would see that look on her face again--that unspeakable happiness at coming home.

As soon as she had the Wyrm underfoot, she dropped all of her things and came flying into his arms.

There was a distinct kind of warmth to Betty, places where her body touched his that gave that heat a shape in his mind. It meant comfort, intimacy, and support, like that calm on a cool night, sitting around a hearth with the people who matter to you.

As that blanket of _her_ wrapped around him, he clung to her, his lips pressed to hers. He breathed in her scent, letting that feeling of missing her wash away.

Her closeness set his entire body alight, feeling in full force what he could only imagine having the last twelve weeks. Their late night comm sessions had fed what felt like a addiction, a short-lived high that gave them what they needed for the moment, only to leave him wanting more when reality set in--she wasn’t in bed with him, she wasn’t there when he woke up, he couldn’t just curl up and have an arm full of Betty. He felt that keenly.

Even now, kissing her with the hunger of weeks past, his fingers combing through her hair, and the skin of her nape warm against his palms, he could hardly believe it.  

He was still deep in this haze of her when he finally heard the clearing of someone’s throat, followed by, “Alright, break it up you two.”

He was inclined to go on, just to be stubborn, but Betty smiled into their kiss and began to giggle, pulling away from him and looking into his eyes as she said, “Hi.”

He could hardly muster the words to reply, as his eyes were too busy taking her in, how her smile made her look gorgeous and how a soft glow radiated from her skin, all without the filter of a comm screen.

She went to FP to give him a kiss on the cheek and a hearty hug, which he unabashedly held for a few seconds before he slapped her shoulder, saying, “Okay, okay. I missed you too, kid.”

Then ever mindful of Jellybean’s general repulsion to being touched, she gently put a hand on Jellybean’s shoulder and squeezed.

Jellybean’s wide smile and bright eyes were a rare enough sight, but she reached out and squeezed back, telling Betty, “I have so many things to show you!”

Hotdog, after waiting for her to greet his humans like the good boy he was, jumped her and licked her face, barking and wagging his tail. Betty laughed and got on one knee just to rub him behind the ears and give him a hug of his own.

Jughead felt his heart grow full at the sight of his father, sister, and dog looking so happy to see her. She had become a part of their lives, one of _them,_ a Jones, whether she took the name or not.

He hardly noticed Malachi approaching him, until Malachi clapped a hand on Jughead’s shoulder and said, “Never got the chance to congratulate you on your engagement, Jonesey.”

Jughead was too surprised to think about holding out his hand to accept the handshake Malachi offered him. She never talked about Malachi over the comm, even when she was flying with them, but that may be because she knew any talk of Malachi irritated him on a deeply embarrassing level. “Thanks, man.”

The rest of his crew came over to say hello, including Harvey, who seemed glad to see him. He hadn’t even seen Harvey during the Hal Cooper or the ongoing ESDC trials. They, as witnesses, were called at separate times, and there was no need to have them in the same virtual rooms, but it was good to see Harvey looking well.

“You doing okay?” Jughead asked, looking for any hollowing of his cheeks, and dark circles under his eyes, or any drooping in his shoulders.

Harvey nodded. “I’m good, thanks to you, Cap.”

That gave Jughead pause. He didn’t think he had much to do with anything in the context of Harvey’s post-rescue health, but after the rescue, they didn’t get much of a chance to talk. Jughead had been too busy wrestling with his PTSD and Harvey hadn’t stayed long enough on the Wyrm. Jughead remembered Harvey thanking him before, but he supposed he had thought of it as, “Thanks for hosting me on the ship.” Jughead had been too caught up in his demons to think it was more than that.

And yet here was Harvey, thanking him because he was _well._ Jughead realized that it meant a lot for Harvey to say that.

“Are you guys heading out or would you like to stay for bit? We don’t mind--thank you for taking care of Betty,” FP offered.

Malachi shook his head, feigning exhaustion. “She _was_ kind of impossible.”

Betty pouted. _“Hey.”_

“Kidding. She was a total wet dream.”

Jughead scowled.

Shelly May hit Malachi upside the head. “Why’d you always have to go there?”

_“Ow.”_

“We gotta go,” Udo said for all of them. “Got bounties to chase. It was great hosting you, Betty.”

Betty did go over and give them all warm goodbyes, thanking them for the ride. Even Malachi got a hug which, to his credit, he did not take advantage of.

When they left and cargo bay doors were sealed, they gathered Betty’s things and commenced deannexation of cargo bays.

It felt good to have Betty filling her seat at the bridge again, having that void filled so that the spaces in the ship can be re-occupied.

When the Wyrm and the House of the Dead were separated, they set a course for the 4th Quadrant immediately. Their first wormhole would give them at least 24 hours of auto-pilot time, hours that Jughead looked forward to dedicating to Betty’s return.

As soon as they were set in the wormhole, they gathered in the galley. FP had prepared a nice homecoming dinner, and while Jughead and Betty had talked regularly over the comm, there was a lot of catching up to do between Betty, JB, and FP.

Jughead didn’t mind. He was content to sit by Betty, parts of them in constant contact. He could focus on the animated expressions on her face and the sound of her voice. He could enjoy the smallest and softest touch of her hand on the skin of his arm, or the way her hair fell on her shoulders.

He smiled when she laughed and pushed her hair back when it impeded his view of her face. He was enthralled by having her _here_ and she smiled, knowingly. She was pleased that she had his complete attention.

She told them, carefully (he noted) how her mother wanted them all to meet for a nice family dinner. “You know… Gladys included, if that’s okay with you.”

That knocked him slightly out of his blissful haze. “She wants mom there?”

Jellybean briefly made a face. “Wow. Okay, rock on.”

“Did she mention Gladys specifically?” FP asked, growing slightly tense.

Betty shrugged. “She said _all._ She was emphatic, so I can only strongly assume, but she’s handing out the invitation for that, and honestly, it feels weird _not_ to extend one to Gladys.” She looked at Jughead apprehensively. “She’s your mom, and you’ve kind of been getting along, right?”

She looked so hopeful that he couldn’t bear to respond with any negativity, and really, her hopes were founded. Him and Gladys have talked a bit more since that first extremely uncomfortable hail. They were still hashing things out, unsure of how they were going to go about moving forward, but they’ve come to an uneasy agreement of being honest with one another and trying harder--something he did for his dad in the past, so he felt slightly obligated to do for his mother, as well. This means he would have to talk to Gladys about this dinner and expressing his affability to having her there, which in itself may be an uncomfortable endeavor, but he wouldn’t just be doing this for Betty, he was doing it for his relationship with Gladys, as well.

“Kind of,” he replied, softly. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“Boy,” FP muttered.

“I got it, dad.”

FP rolled his eyes and sighed, but he didn’t say anything else. This was Jughead and Betty’s engagement. This was up to them.

To celebrate Betty’s return, FP had attempted to make a cake, in which he he seemed generally successful in, as far as the actual cake parts went, but the decorating left much to be desired.

“I couldn’t work the piper as well as I wanted,” FP said, bashfully.

Aside from the irregularly shaped globs of buttercream dotted along the edge of what would’ve otherwise been a perfectly round cake, the colored lettering on the face of it had said, in very wobbly, uneven, and visibly withering lines:

_WELCome Home_

_Betts~~~~~~~_

It took everything in Jughead’s willpower not to laugh, but Betty was genuinely touched, and when they tried the cake, it was delicious. In their little family gathering, that was more than enough.

As dinner came to a quiet close, and the dishes completely put away, Jellybean wiped her hands on a dish towel and tapped Betty’s shoulder. “I’ve got stuff to do, so I’ll see you tomorrow, sis.”

“‘Night, JB,” Betty replied, throwing her a warm smile.

Hotdog went for a drive-by pat as he followed Jellybean out the door.

Hearing Jellybean call Betty sis gave Jughead a pleasant pang.

FP nodded. “I’m turning in, too. Cake making is exhausting.”

“Thanks, FP. That cake was so good.”

“You’re sweet, kid. Great to have you back.”

He gave her shoulder a pat as he left, and the last Jughead heard of his dad was the galley doors hissing closed.

And then they were alone.

************************

Jughead gave a sigh of relief, pulling her closer. “I _finally_ have you all to myself.”

Betty turned in her seat, smiling as she draped her arms over his shoulders and rubbed her nose lightly against his. “Did you miss me, Cowboy?”

“Like _air.”_

“Then _breathe,”_ she whispered.

His lips descended on hers, and it was like gas to a slow burning flame. The flare of heat spread like wildfire, and it can only be doused by letting it blaze its worse.

Jughead knew he missed her, but the incredible need that blossomed from the pit of his stomach, the intensity of it, was shocking even to him.

“Betty.” He grasped her by the back of her thighs and lifted her onto the table, setting her down with her legs parted to accommodate him. He raked his fingers through her hair to coax her to look up at him and his mouth covered hers in a heated kiss.

She moaned as her tongue tangled with his and he could feel the heat of her body through the skin of her neck.

His mouth traveled to her throat, her head rolling back to give him more access as she leaned back on the heels of her hands

She gave a gasp as his hand slipped beneath her shirt and palmed her breast through her bra. “Jug.”

Her gentle push against his shoulder brought some of his senses back. This wasn’t the safest place to be doing this. He could possibly make it to the cabins without completely taking her clothes off. “Do you want to—“

His words were cut off by her swift removal of her shirt and her frantic grappling with the buttons of his pants.

“Now,” she gasped. “I want you _now._ We play later.”

Her words kicked his desire into overdrive. “Fuck, yeah.” His pants loosened and then he was working on hers, undoing her buttons and pulling her pants completely off. He pulled her boots off her as well, and when her pants fell to the floor, he dragged her panties down her smooth, beautiful legs.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growled, helping her push his pants and boxers down. He was so hard and her so ready that he only needed to lean over her and he was inside her.

“Oh, God, Juggie!”

He was so caught in the bliss of her warmth surrounding him that when she gathered a handful of his considerably longer hair, he was too enthralled to feel the sting of her ravishing fingers. Her kiss, deep and consuming, brought him right back.

He looped an arm around her waist and thrust hard into her.

Betty’s cry of encouragement fired his desire, and all he could do between the insanely pleasurable sensations from his dick and the beautiful bowing of her body, was the continued driving of his hips into hers.

They moved with vigorous abandon, his arm tugging her to a rhythm, his hand touching parts of her where he could reach, and his lips tasting his lovely, tanned skin. Nothing else felt this good.

He could feel his own climax coming and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it.

“Don’t stop!” she cried. “I’m so close. _So close.”_

He groaned and pushed up her bra, covering her nipple with his mouth and sucking as he moved inside her in a steady tempo.

She cried for him to go harder as he felt her coming, and when she threw her head back, crying out his name, he released and moaned against her throat, joining her in her climax.

 

**********************

 

She shed most of her clothes before getting into bed with him, which was perfectly fine by him. Her threadbare little t-shirt hitched all too easily up her stomach, giving him ample room to trace circles around her belly button and tease the ridge of ribs beneath her breasts.

It made her giggle and he leaned over her on the bed to kiss her, while letting his hands roam over the curves of her hips and legs. He wasn’t quite ready for round two, but he like this process of remembering the feel of her.

She had tan lines along her shoulders and hips, and some skin was flaking off the ridge of her nose. She had told him about the hours she had spent out on a beach taking care of the twins and babysitting with Chic, which made him want to spend their honeymoon on some beachy escape.

“You’re going to work me up if you keep touching me like that.” Her eyes were trailing along his shoulders and chest, and she bit her lip as she looked up at him. Her eyelashes fluttered, and if they hadn’t just finished, she would’ve gotten the desired effect.

He grinned, but he did move his wandering hand up to cup her face, brushing the pad of his thumb lightly over her cheek. “I just missed you. All of you. I thought the comm would be enough--talking and—“ his grin broadened “—other stuff, but it wasn’t. I’d miss you in a couple of hours and it felt like I hadn’t seen you in days.”

Her fingers feathered the line of his jaw, tapering off the point of his chin. “It felt that way for me, too. We’ve become that couple. We’re probably insufferable to other people.”

He didn’t disagree. Jellybean had already loudly complained about his pining and sulking the last twelve weeks. Even FP had joked about it a couple of times.

It didn’t bother him. He liked having been able to focus on something so dramatically satisfying. “It’s a good thing we’re getting married, then.” He threaded his fingers through hers, feeling the ring fitted around her finger.

She laughed and nodded. “We’ll settle back down. We just hadn’t gotten the chance to enjoy being engaged, that’s all. I was jetting off so soon after, and everyone was kind of putting off talking about the nice stuff because of dad’s trial and everything…”

There was that pang of concern again, twisting in the pit of his stomach. After Hal had been pronounced guilty in court, he had asked her how she was, and all she told him was that she had felt relief, but he sensed that she didn’t want to talk about it much, so he didn’t push, and in some deeply twisted way, he couldn’t get the thought of him being the reason her father was going to jail out of his head. He was afraid that if he said it out loud, it would actually conjure a demon and become an actual thing.

But lying with her, skin to skin on his bed, he felt a little less afraid. “Baby, your dad… after all’s said and done, I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry he’s in jail because of me.”

She cast him a mildly chastising look, holding his face in her hands. “He is not in jail because of you. He is in jail because of him. And if it wasn’t for what he did to you, it would’ve been for some other thing, and I might have gotten manipulated into helping him get away with it. It’s all--” she paused, a haunted look glazing over her eyes. “It’s not his incarceration that bothers me. I wasn’t lying when I said I was relieved he’s finally put away. I’d like to think that with him in jail, he can do no harm, or much less of it. We’re all safer this way. So yes, I’m _glad_ he’s going to jail. I’m glad he’s exposed for what he is. What makes me think is what he was like in the past, and it disturbs me. The things he did to his family to manipulate us all, and the things--the things he did to _me._ How I got so easily drawn into what he wanted, and maybe there were moments that were--” She pursed her lips. _“Creepy._ Inappropriate. Like I should’ve known.”

He had to take a deep breath and calm some of the panic bubbling in his heart. “Betty, did he--did he _touch_ you in any way--”

She shook her head vigorously. _“No._ No, he didn’t, but he’s made me feel uncomfortable, with his words and some of the things he did, but I always told myself it was permissible because he was my father. I made excuses for him to make myself feel better about it.”

His panic turned to rage, and for a brief moment he imagined himself storming into Neptune’s penitentiary facility and beating the living shit out of Hal Cooper. He would tell Hal that he was a monster, that his daughters weren’t brought into this world for his convenience, that they weren’t “assets” for him to use, and he would punctuate each declaration with the force of his fist. If Hal had never gotten found out, he could’ve been a danger to his _grandchildren,_ present and future, how it could’ve been a little girl named Lily Jones, sitting on grandpa Hal’s lap and--

_“Jughead!”_

He blinked, and he realized he had been frozen, breathing heavily through the dark thoughts racing through his head. He swallowed, calming his anger. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

The look of compassion on her face told him everything he needed to know, and he sighed, but unlike before, having episodes like this didn’t defeat him. He now knew he had ways to deal with them. “I’m sorry. There are less of those, I swear. It’s just Hal.”

“It’s a process,” she said, firmly. “And yes, even talk about my father upsets me, so you’re not alone in that. We’ll talk about him some other time.”

He shook his head and took her hand. “I don’t want you to edit yourself for me. I’ll work this out. I brought him up, not you. I guess he still makes me angry.”

“I’d argue that you’re entitled to being angry with him.”

“And I’d say it would do well for me to realize that anger, in any form, can destroy me. So for my own good, I need to expunge it.”

He could tell that she was stifling a smile.

“You’re a champ, Juggie. I know you sometimes feel like this therapeutic lingo ruins your—“ she paused, and he could tell she was searching for a word “— _aesthetic_ …”

He laughed, embarrassed at himself for even projecting that idea into Betty’s head. _“Stop._ I mean, I roll my eyes a lot, but I know it helps me. It’s just me being a dick. I appreciate what my therapy does for me. Flutesnoot’s a saint for putting up with me, too. And I haven’t read you my last journal entry, have I? Let me know when you have time. It’s a fucking masterpiece.”

“Jug.” There was question there, amidst the fondness in her eyes. He was deflecting and she knew it.

He just didn’t want her to worry too much. At least not like she used to. “I promise, I’m generally okay. It’s been--positive. And I don’t want everything to turn into something about me. That’ll just make me obnoxious.”

She exaggerated a thoughtful look. “Well, you’re going to be the groom in the proceedings so many things will be about you whether you like it or not.”

This topic he can fully get behind. “I don’t mind it being about me when it comes to _that.”_

Her chuckle was soft, making him think that she was letting this go because he was asking nicely, and he appreciated her indulging him, except he knew too that she was doing it for love, that she never wanted to push him into doing anything he didn’t want to do.

“How about I write about all of this in my journal,” he said more gently, more seriously. “And you can read about it in a couple of days?”

She tilted a smile and gave his chin a soft pinch. “How about your write about it, and then you can take it from there?”

He nodded, reminding himself that communication wasn’t about oversharing. It was a mix of things, one of which was about going easy on one’s self, going slow, and taking a moment to breathe and share thoughtfully with your partner. Leave the stream of consciousness to your therapist and your journals, because the former has the intellectual tools to parse it and the latter makes it easier for your newly acquired coping mechanisms to work to their fullest, most beneficial potential.

“I love you,” he said.

She didn’t answer back immediately, but she was smiling, and her eyes never left his face. “Love you back.”

He liked how she sometimes took her time with those words. It reminded him of just how much she meant it when she said it.

His fingers trailed to her belly button again, his idle circling gaining purpose and going lower as the twitching between his legs grew more insistent. What can he say? She was amazing and it turned him on.

She squirmed. “Don’t tease.”

He hummed and knew that he was _definitely_ recharged for round two. It was going to take a while for the twelve weeks of _missing_ to wear off.

He kissed her with deep promise while his fingers slid beneath the fabric of her panties, seeking her wet warmth. Her moan made him so erect that he sought friction against her thigh.

She hissed. “Slowly this time?”

“Oh, baby,” he whispered. “We’re going to be at this _all night,_ I promise.”

She smiled, her eyes fluttering close as he slowly dipped his fingers into her. “I like the sound of that.”

 

********************

 

“Hello, Jughead,” Alice said, swirling the glass of wine she had in her hand. Behind her, the backdrop of a vineyard gave her a relaxed glow. It was also entirely possible that she’d had a few glasses already. “Thank you for joining us.”

Betty hoped that either way, it would make her less vipery. Softer. One, Betty thought, could hope.

Beside her, Jughead looked at ease, even as she gripped his hand with slightly more pressure than was necessary. “Evening, Alice. I appreciate you letting me. It shows that you value my opinion.”

There was that undertone of politeness, that courtesy that ESDC servicemen were expected to uphold, even with hostiles—to make one’s presence known by communicating, without saying, “I know you don’t want me here, but I’m here anyway, and honestly, you had no choice in the matter, but let me throw you a bone and help you act as polite as I am being.”

Betty had asked Jughead to be present for this, because she needed his support. She needed his physical presence. Telling Alice _no_ was always an ordeal for her, and Betty was always afraid Alice would railroad her into giving in. Having Jughead there would help Betty stick to her convictions.

“Of course I value your opinion,” Alice said, a little sharply. “It’s your wedding, too.”

Betty’s fingers tensed a bit more, but Jughead rubbing the back of her hand eased them loose.

“Besides,” Alice continued in a more resigned tone. “It’s been made clear to me that Betty won’t agree to anything that she hasn’t talked to you about first, so here we are. I am nothing if not efficient.”

He was stifling a smirk, and Betty was certain Alice can tell. “Fair, but thanks, anyway. It shouldn’t really be painful for anyone, Alice. I swear I’m a reasonable guy, and ultimately I just want Betty to be happy.”

Betty felt so soft when he said things like that. “Jug, we want the same thing, right?”

He nodded vehemently. “Yes. Alice, we just want to keep things simple. I know you can afford to pay for everything--our budget’s chump change for you, but we really, _really_ would prefer to pay for our own wedding. This way, _we--”_

“I get it, Jones, believe me. Control is my drug. I start throwing my money around and you won’t be able to say no to me.”

Jughead didn’t argue.

“But I concur that we can talk about things. This is your wedding, but she is my daughter. Contrary to popular belief, I want what’s best for her, too.”

 _“Betty,”_ Jughead said pointedly. Carefully. “What do you think?”

She took a deep breath. She could do this, just like she practiced. If she could stand up to her father and a whole room of board members, she could stand up to Alice. “I get to decide what’s best for me, mom, but of course we can talk about things. This is exciting for me, too, and I want to celebrate this with the people I love and _only_ the people I love. Jug and I have an idea of what we want and we’d like to stick with it.”

“Understood. So let’s hear it. What were you two crazy kids envisioning?”

Betty looked at Jughead and he gave her an encouraging nod.

“Small wedding party, obviously. If I have bridesmaids at all, it’ll be V, JB, and Polly. That’s it. Jughead couldn’t even bring himself to have an _actual_ entourage, because if he did, it could get out of hand.”

“My entire flight could qualify. I’ve been through so much with those guys. I take one, I have to take them all,” Jughead explained.

Alice was looking the slightest bit horrified. “So you _won’t_ have an entourage?”

“He wants to keep it to FP and Chic.”

Alice huffed. “FP? Really? And isn’t Chic going to walk you down the aisle, Betty?”

“Yes and yes,” Betty replied. “I told you, mom. This is going to be simple, authentic, straight up about the people we love. The people that really mean something to us.”

“So how many guests are we talking about here? Do you even have a guest list?”

Betty bristled. “Oh, mother. Don’t be so sarcastic.”

Alice’s eyebrow was already arching, like the pulling of a bow to release an arrow.

Jughead put his hands up in a calming gesture. “Betty, Alice… this is just a discussion.”

“Fine,” Alice said, smoothing her expression. “How many on your guest list?”

Again, Betty took a deep, cleansing breath. “Between mine and Jughead’s list, we have about 30 to 35 people. No more.”

“God, you weren’t kidding about the ‘intimate’ part. I’ve hosted bridge parties bigger than that. Alright then, sounds reasonable. The wedding coordinator can work with that.”

 _“Mom,_ I told you--”

“You need someone to to make sure everything goes according to plan on the day of, Betty. You don’t want to be running around, managing the staff in your gown. I sure as hell don’t think Polly will be taking care of that--not with the twins fussing, and you can forget Chic. I refuse to putter around doing that and I highly doubt Gladys will be so obliging. If it’s the cost, don’t worry. I can foot that bill.”

Jughead made no protest with respect to the casual mention of Gladys. However better his relationship was with his mother right now, his fair assessment of it still waddled the line of “Couldn’t get any worse,” on most days, and Betty suspected that Jughead _still_ didn’t want to ask his mother any favors.

Jughead didn’t appear to have much of an opinion on the wedding coordinator, either. It was something they hadn’t decided on yet but knew Betty was considering.

Having her mother pay for it was probably unnecessary, because ultimately, Betty could afford it, but that wasn’t the issue. A wedding coordinator meant they were going to have a lavish wedding, which was something they didn’t want, and more importantly, a wedding coordinator that _Alice_ would be paying for could result in Alice gaining control of the proceedings. Betty was _not_ going to be out maneuvered that way. “Jug and I are still discussing it, mom. Don’t start making calls. The last thing I want is for someone like Yifat Raffanelli showing up at the Wyrm and making me try on 27 Zuhair Murad dresses just to see what shade of white fits me best.”

Alice scowled. “Yifat isn’t that impossible…”

Betty shot Jughead a knowing look as she rolled her eyes. “We don’t know if we need a coordinator, at all--we don’t even know if we’re willing to pay the premium on one who will fly all the way to edge of the 3rd Quad.”

Alice took a deep breath, probably to restrain herself. Their destination wedding’s location was unknown to Alice until now. No doubt, she had assumed they would stick to the 2nd quadrant, since the 3rd and 4th were considerably thin on wedding venues that would pass muster with Alice. “Where in the 3rd Quad could you possibly hold a wedding?”

At this, Jughead smiled. “Have you ever heard of the City of a Thousand Veils?”

“Never.”

Betty tried her best to ignore Alice’s clipped tone. “It’s the largest settlement of monks in the galaxy. It’s a city filled with temples and houses of worship, from different denominations and faiths. It’s culturally rich, diverse in its beliefs, and it’s the perfect place for self-reflection, spiritual journeys, and--little known fact--weddings. It’s a beautiful destination. Jughead and I fell in love with it when we first visited. If we can get a booking there, we probably won’t need a wedding coordinator, or at least not one with an obscene price tag. It’s not going to be anywhere near as ostentatious as the weddings you’ve attended in New York, but this is what Juggie and I want. I don’t know if it will be ‘elegant’, but I promise you, it will be charming and tasteful.”

Alice’s sigh of exasperation was the most drawn out Betty had ever heard. “I suppose the farther away it is from the 1st and 2nd Quadrants, the easier it is to keep off the news. Penny needs to know all this, by the way. Whether you like it or not, she’s the only one who can ensure that your wedding doesn’t get swarmed by reporters.”

Jughead made a sound of discontent, which could have meant anything, but Betty knew it was because he hated Penny, and she didn’t blame him.

To appease him, she flashed him an apologetic look before turning back to her mother. “Fine. Better her than TMC. Anything else?”

“Who is designing your gown?”

“To be determined. It’s not top of mind.”

“Not top of--I swear to God, Elizabeth, if you tell me you’re getting married barefoot--”

“Not my aesthetic, mom, but I _am_ considering getting married in a cowboy hat.”

Jughead grinned and Alice finished he glass of wine in one go, but to Alice’s credit, she said nothing about it.

“I’ll be hosting this dinner with the in laws, at least. I don’t suppose you want me to run everything by you with regard to that?” Alice said in a haughty tone, pouring herself some more wine.

“Have at it, mom. Just make sure that wherever that is, they either allow Hotdog on the premises or host him somewhere he won’t feel lonesome.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Of course. Let’s work our plans around the family dog. Jughead, will your mother be attending this dinner?”

“Don’t know, but she’s getting an invite.”

The neutrality on Alice’s face made Betty slightly nervous. “Should be interesting. She hated me back in the day.”

Betty was about to blurt out that Gladys still did but Jughead put gentle pressure on her thigh, which made Betty clamp her mouth shut.

“Hate is such a strong word,” Jughead said, wincing.

Alice drank her wine. “I’ll bet. I’m sending out the invitations in a couple of days so expect it in the mail. Are you still sticking to your four-month timeline for this? Not even half a year? You’re not pregnant, are you? Because that would make the whole dress situation complicated.”

Sometimes, Betty actually wondered if they’d worn down their mother that she could so casually mention unexpected pregnancies. “No, I’m not pregnant. It’s just a window in time. It’s far enough for everyone we’re inviting to clear their schedules and it’s as soon as we can make it. We just--” She looked at Jughead and she cast him an affectionate smile, which he returned, his brilliant blue eyes never failing to make her feel like she was his entire universe. “We just want to get married. If we didn’t have to invite everyone, we’d do it in the next Alliance outpost, with FP and JB as witness.”

She sighed at the fantasy, and she knew Jughead wanted that, too. She pecked a kiss on his lips, and she supposed it could be interpreted as her being unafraid of what her mother would think, which always let loose Jughead’s tendency to do whatever the hell he wanted. So he grinned and tilted her chin up to kiss her again, and Betty found her mind getting soupy with thoughts like, “What’s mom going to do, ground me?”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Alice hissed. “Is this conversation over, then? Because I don’t need to watch you two getting all hot and bothered. Honestly, let’s just talk again some other time. Get _whatever_ this is out of your systems.” The comm transmission was cut.

Betty could feel Jughead smiling into the kiss and she couldn’t help giggling.

“You realize that everytime your mother starts to get on your nerves, we can always diffuse the situation _this way exactly,”_ he said.

She laughed, holding his face in her hands. “I think that entire discussion went pretty well, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “I think we won that skirmish. Do you think I ever have to call Alice mom? It’s weird, but that _would_ be kind of funny.”

 _“Do it._ I dare you.”

His laughter, so light and true, it made her anxieties for Alice wash away. “I’ll debut it at this In Law dinner, where _everyone_ can hear it. It’ll be incredibly uncomfortable.”

“Chic would _love_ it. Maybe even JB, too.”

“She lives for shit like that.” He took her hands in his and brought her knuckles to his lips, a gesture that made her truly melt on the inside. “Are you good, then? With Alice trying to take control?”

She nodded, appreciating how much he could lift her up and make her stronger. “I think you really helped set the tone, Jug. Thank you. I know my mother can be impossible…”

“Baby, I just want you to be happy, and I want this wedding to be a happy occasion for you, not turn you into a ball of nerves. It’s going to be alright, okay?”

She nodded, letting Jughead soothe her.

“Oh, you know what else would be funny?” he added, a glint in his eyes. _“What if_ you were actually pregnant and--”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no. God, you and your baby fever.”

“Just asking. You never know.”

 

********************

 

A week later, the invitations for dinner arrived.

FP called his sponsor, Gladys called Jughead to ask him if “that bitch Alice Cooper” hadn’t sent her an invitation by mistake, Polly hailed Betty to rant about Ezekiel’s exclusion, Chic commed from the mountains of Tibet to tell her the culmination of his life was to see FP, Gladys, and Alice sitting at the same table, and Jellybean--well, she played video games.

TBC

 


	2. The Mothers

 

 

Mothers, Betty reminded herself, are people.

They are constantly put up on a pedestal, even more so than fathers, and they have, by turns, risen to the occasion, or provided the bare minimum. Some failed at it completely. It was a responsibility that women have taken on (or not) in various way, and for various reasons, for millions of years.

There were three mothers orbiting Betty’s life right now, and two of them had immensely complicated relationships with their children.  The third one was just now realizing how the pureness of her children’s love could get processed by the practicalities of life, and that even the most uncomplicated love will be subject to emotional ups and downs.

Being a mother is never simple--Betty believes all mothers know this, whether the media around them is honest about it or not.

The reality of being a mother was an everyday struggle--for getting work done, for nurturing your children’s immediate needs, for helping them look to the future, for remembering yourself in spite of giving yourself to others, for all the things that once meant nothing to anyone else but now impacted the circle of their lives.

Betty knew Jughead had been steadily working on mending the chasm between him and his mother. He was finding it to be a monumental task, but the beauty of them was that neither of them had any expectations. They weren’t there yet, as he said.

It was interesting to note (but not surprising to Betty) that Gladys respected her son. It didn’t mean she was particularly sweet to Jughead, but she listened to him and she valued his opinion on certain things.

Betty thought it endearing that Gladys was the only one who called him Junior, and that this never seemed to be a point of annoyance for Jughead. It was _their_ name for him. And yes, Betty supposed that answered her question from before--Gladys always called him Junior, without irony, and probably with a lot of affection.

Theirs was a relationship on the mend, each point of contact a moment in time where a bond might get stronger or frayed enough to be left for later.  

For Betty and Alice, it was different. There wasn’t a point of breakage. Just many interconnected threads that were taut. Strong, but pulled in every which direction, never breaking, but never at ease. It was a constant battle for leverage. This was their normal.

While their time in Anglia helped give them a better understanding of one another, maybe eased a few of those battles to gentler compromises, it didn’t change the essence of Alice.

Betty’s mother was still _full_ of active pursuits. She was energetic in her wants and demands. Alice still expected excellence and she still craved control.  Alice’s nature was still to move things forward, to make sure things were going in the right direction, to make things _beautiful,_ even if it meant slapping some fondant over the ruined cake.

She still looked at Betty and told her that her overalls made her look like a brick and that her shorts and t-shirt made her look “loose”, that really, she was engaged now and that out of respect for Jughead, she shouldn’t be showing off too much of her goods.

Alice was still incredibly infuriating. One thing that has helped, born from the awfulness of her father’s trial, was that Betty had learned to appreciate the good intentions buried beneath the pile of Alice’s issues.

It took a lot of doing to understand Alice, to love her and appreciate her. Betty sometimes wished Alice were different. Gentler, maybe. Easier. Then again, would she have been as strong for her children if she weren’t the Alice they knew her as?

Possibly not. She was the Alice they needed her to be.

Polly, on the other hand, was a genuine sweetheart being run ragged by the concerns of an galaxy class company and the demands of being a new mother to twins. She tried her hardest to separate work and family, but Betty could tell that sometimes, it hurt for Polly to smile, and that she waited a couple of seconds longer to go to her children when they cried for her.

She was exhausted, but she was driven. She wanted to be Super Mom, except she wasn’t a Kryptonian. She was a regular Earthling with no super powers. Betty had no doubt that if the company made her a jet pack, Polly would wear it to go about her day, zipping from one place to another. (Betty had that prototype swimming somewhere in her mountain of notes--it was not going to see the light of day for a while.)

“Polly, maybe you should consider having full-time au pairs,” Betty had said more than once. “For your own sanity. As much as I think Ezekiel does a great job taking care of the twins while you’re at work, the fact that you and he have to take care of June and Woody when you get home sounds like you’re both getting run down by exhaustion--”

“I want my children to know I’m there for them. That I won’t just hand them over to nannies,” Polly said, stubbornly, as she bounced June on her hip. “I love that when I get home, they call for me and not some au pair. I love that they look to Ezekiel when they want snacks and toys. It’s fulfilling to me that they are thrilled of bathtime, because it means mommy time. I highly doubt that _you’d_ hire an au pair for your kids. You and Jughead would probably _love_ having them with you all the time.”

Betty hated it whenever Polly did that, when she turned the tables on something that wasn’t the issue. Polly was good at deflecting. She appealed to the better natures of other people--that’s how she got her way. “I’m not running Cooper Gestalt, Polly. I’d have time to do those things. Also, if Jug and I ever had kids on this ship, we’d have the help of FP and JB 24/7. Our lifestyle would be vastly different from yours.”

“You make time for the things that matter to you.”

And all that was true, of course, but it was also true that Polly could use a break every now and then.

Betty hadn’t thought much about her future as a mother, aside from the practical support she and Jughead would no doubt have. She wanted to be a mother, for sure, and Jughead wanted to be a dad sooner rather than later. He was _so_ ready, which was endearing--seriously, she loved him more for it, but it was something Betty was still very careful about bringing up. She didn’t want to get Jughead’s hopes up just yet, because she was still trying to figure out what she wanted. She was still wondering if she was ready for it, so soon.

Right now, the only baby she was worrying about was her engine, and no one knew this more keenly than aunt Jellybean.

**********************

Betty held out her hand, head and shoulders deep in the bowels of the Chopper’s engine. The wires that snaked through the many electrical housings, once a mess and now perfectly organized, mocked her. The shiny, well oiled gears only served to make that feeling of procrastination worse. She felt the weight of the gimbal palm ratchet as it was handed to her. “Thanks, JB. Almost done.”

A soft scoff followed. “I know what you’re doing, sis.”

“Replacing a gasket? Yeah, standard stuff for a dependable craft like this.”

“You know what I mean,” Jellybean groused, sitting back on her makeshift stool--a replacement parts storage compartment. Taking up most of the floor at her feet, Hot Dog was snoozing on the backs of his paws, looking like a lumpy, fuzzy carpet of fur. “There’s nothing wrong with the Chopper.”

Betty refused to quit cranking her tool, especially because it was making that satisfying clicking sound. “I know that. Our crafts and this ship are running perfectly because I make sure they do, everyday. _This_ is part of that process.”

“You are delaying. You are putting things off.”

Betty pursed her lips and shot Jellybean a withering look. She bit off any of the snarky retorts that came to mind, however, because Jellybean was right. Betty was putting things off, and really, there was no logical reason she should. It started off with the best of intentions--to distract herself from the upcoming In Laws dinner that gave her more stress than she was willing to admit, and then it became this perfect device to procrastinate on moving her prototype testing plans forward.

This wasn’t the first time she would be testing a prototype engine, for sure. She wasn’t a stranger to failure, either. It was, in fact, rare, for a prototype to work the first time. Any engine she’d ever conceptualized in the past had, at some point, conked out, so if she were being purely scientific, the 4/2 engine wasn’t statistically likely to run as expected at the first go.

When she had been the lead scientist at Cooper Gestalt, she was required to follow a procedure, letting the Post-Doc and his team run the algorithms she provided, letting her lab manager and her staff of working grads complete a series of foundational codes Betty had given them, and while these things were happening, the lab was concurrently allowing the lab specialists to run sub-processes.

Any failures or weaknesses in the design could always be attributed to someone missing a code, or an algorithm, or step in the sub-process, so Betty always knew where to look to fix things. It wasn’t a matter of blame, it was about knowing where a problem originated so she could remedy it.

Betty nurtured observation and learning in her lab. Blame was forbidden. Everyone had a purpose and Betty believed it was her job to encourage integration, so they didn’t end up in non-collaborative silos. They were a team.  

It was productive, and it ensured that her lab would eventually, and even speedily, end up with the final, desired results.

They failed together and they succeeded together. That was her motto. That was what motivated her lab to succeed.

In the Whyte Wyrm, they were a team of two. Three if she counted Jughead hauling in the parts they needed.

Betty was the triumvirate of Principal Investigator, Post-Doc, and lab manager. Jellybean was the grad students and lab specialists combined, and Jughead took care of their logistics--providing their materials, knowing where they were in great and short supply, negotiating with hardened merchants and sometimes the occasional junkyard dog.

If this engine failed, there are no _teams_ to conduct debriefings and post-mortems with. She had herself, and maybe Jellybean, maybe Jughead. Unlike all the other engines she’d put together in the past in her father’s research lab, the formulation and engineering of this engine was 100% her process.  

“JB,” she began, sighing. “We’ve been working on this engine for over a year now and from the very beginning, I did all of the computations, most of the engineering, most of the design--every sub-process and algorithm came from my brain and I put it to paper, and then into that engine. You provided the software I asked for and Jughead found materials throughout the galaxy, meticulously following my specifications to the letter. If I test that engine and it fails, I am the only one I can look to for answers, which fucking scares me, because I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for answers in my brain. As far as I know, everything is perfect, so it can’t fail. I shouldn’t. If it does, I’m fucked. I may have to start all over again.”

Jellybean frowned. “Betty, you are the smartest person I know, and coming from me, that’s something. And look at this ship. The Wyrm should be a total wreck by now--it’s over 80 years old! And yet you’re making it fly like the Millenium Falcon. It’s a goddamn masterpiece. How can you possibly think that you couldn’t figure things out by yourself?”

Betty’s shoulders dropped and she melted to the floor in a dejected pile. “I don’t know. There are so many things going on. I’m just--I guess I’m overthinking it. I’ve put too much into that engine. We all did. Every spark plug and every nanobot. It’s a fusion of everything—atoms, thoughts, emotions—it was my escape when I was sad, or scared, or when I was fighting grief. It’s all hardware and software, but some of my heart’s in that thing, too. A lot of it. If it doesn’t work—“

“It will work,” Jellybean said, resolutely. “Eventually if not immediately. Statistically, you’re not supposed to succeed the first time. The most amazing creations were refined by failure. Even I, video game genius, never mastered a video game at the first try. That first stage always gets me, then I know better and I move forward. Then there’s a fucking water world and I—well, it’s a process.”

Betty quirked a smile even amidst her anxiety.

“Listen.” Jellybean went to her and put her hands on Betty’s shoulders. “If your first test is a dud, I guarantee, you will know what to do next. Girl, you found my brother alive when everyone told you he was dead. You’ll find a way.”

She appreciated Jellybean’s faith in her abilities. She was grateful for her support. “And you’ll help me, right? Figure things out?”

Jellybean shrugged. “Where I can, yeah. How about we do this? I have a videogame that I need a partner to finish, so come play it with me—give that great big brain of yours a break. Then after we’ve done that, we can sit and talk about the list of facilities Jug wrote up. We’ll have ice cream while we’re at it.”

The list Jughead provided consisted of a handful of facilities in the galaxy where she could test her engine. Using these facilities would cost her some money, but she had expected that expense, so she had a budget for it. She might have even accounted for failure, so more testing time would be required. It wasn’t the budgetary strain she was afraid of. It was the actual failure that caused her anxiety.

She wasn’t sure why. She was a practical woman. She knew what to expect. And yet failing felt like the approach of a massive black hole.

Sighing, she gave in to Jellybean’s offer of 265-bit therapy with a laugh. “Come on, JB. Let’s storm that Death Star, or Cloud Castle, or whatever the hell it is.”

Jellybean grinned. “It’s called the Mortal Planet--it moves through space, consuming other planets to sustain it, like a predator, alive and terrible. We need to storm it and take it down.”

Betty cherished the fact that when it came to Jellybean, the zaniest things made perfect sense.

*****************

Betty told Jughead about her worries and fears.

As much as Jellybean _had_ managed to get her to work out the when and where of their first testing venue over the promised tub of ice cream, it didn’t take away Betty’s insecurities.

Jughead hadn’t laughed. She could see in his eyes that he understood what this meant for her.

“Betty, when you first got on the Wyrm, the dream of that engine gave you purpose. It was that engine which made you want to go out and reach for the stars. You’re afraid that the failure of that engine invalidates your dreams. You’ve put so much into it that if it tanks, you’re scared that you’d have nothing left, that every taunt that was thrown at you about flying through space would be true—what were their words? ‘Your little jaunt in space’ and ‘tiresome soul search’?”

He was right and she marveled at how easily he came to the answers. Then again, she _was_ in her head, and the view was always clearer when looking at something two steps back.

His lips tilted into a gentle smile, perhaps seeing the wonder in her eyes. “First of all, JB’s right. You’ll know what to do if it doesn’t work the first time. You’re a genius and you’re a goddamn rocket scientist. You have nothing to be afraid of in that regard. But more importantly—let’s just say that engine _never_ works. Let’s say you gave up on it because it exploded and was completely destroyed. Would you still think that your ‘jaunt in space’ was all for naught?”

His question struck her as absurd. “Of course not, Juggie. I found you. And your family. Flying with you on the Wyrm was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“ _You_ are the best thing to ever happen to me. So if your engine doesn’t work, are you really going to give up on it? Because _that_ is the worst. You’ve come so far putting this engine together. That engine will only ever fail if you give up on it, baby, and you know—great things get built because their creators learn from their mistakes. True for things. True for life.”

It was interesting how the Joneses looked at challenges, in general.  

She could look back in the past year and note how the Joneses faced obstacles head on, with nerves of steel and a firm belief in what they can do. They went into any kind of battle screaming, and that ultimately, failure wasn’t a deterrent for them to do what they had to do. And when they did fail, they moved on. They moved _forward._ It was the Jones way. As Jellybean had, on occasion, said, “Yeehaw, motherfucker.”

The Coopers approached challenges with an obsessive amount of measure. That tendency was stark when Betty plotted the strategy for their sojourn into the asteroid field. She wanted reassurances. She weighed certainties with the unpredictable. It was the Cooper way to question, to dissuade, to make sure everyone knew the consequences. And failure? Failure was the ultimate shame. Failure meant you weren’t good enough and you had to prove yourself again.  The entire attitude was a motivator to succeed, but if you failed, it meant going back to the drawing board.

If at first you don’t succeed… pack up and get better somewhere else.

She wasn’t knocking the Jones way or Cooper way, ultimately. Both their families suffered issues because of these attitudes--FP’s alcoholism could be tied to the toxic masculinity that the Jones outlook could very well foster and Chic’s addiction could be a result of one failure after another that just pushed him to give up. They were both of them extremes of the same spectrum. Where they met in the middle would be the ideal.

She angled her neck to look up at Jughead, planting a kiss on his lips. “As important as that engine is to me, it is not the _most_ important thing. I really shouldn’t be so afraid it’ll bomb.”

“Ultimately, yeah. You have nothing to be afraid of. Out here in space, you got time and you got _us.”_

He was right, of course.

Space and the Wyrm always, _always_ gave her the perspective she needed.

**********************

The Wyrm arrived in the second quadrant just in time for the Joneses to settle and prepare for Alice’s dinner that evening.

Alice was hosting their party at an expensive and Jacket Required restaurant called _Como Quiser._ It was Portuguese cuisine with ingredients sourced from nearby 3rd Quadrant agricultural planets. It had two Michelin stars under its belt and it was giving FP visible anxiety.

“I don’t even know what to wear to this thing,” he muttered, looking into his sparse wardrobe, which consisted mostly of jeans, flannels, and thermal sweaters.

Jughead sighed and pushed through the hangers. “Where’s that dark grey suit you always wear--”

“The one I wear for my probation hearings?”

“They don’t know that.”

Jughead found the suit in a heap on the floor, still in its plastic bag, though looking a little more rumpled than he would like. He wasn’t worried. A few minutes in their steamer should do the trick.

“Gladys is gonna mention it. I know she will.”

Jughead sighed. “I’ll talk to her, okay? Just wear the damn suit. It ain’t gonna kill you, dad. And really, Betty’s family isn’t bad at all. When you think about it, you’ve got a kindred spirit in Chic--”

“The addict?”

“Oh, you’re high and mighty now, aren’t you?”

FP frowned. “That’s not what I meant. Look, it’s not about Betty’s family. I mean, call me a douche if you want, but Gladys and Alice have never been in the same room. That’s what’s giving me an ulcer…”

Jughead arched an eyebrow with mild amusement. “I can’t say I understand what it’s like to be the Big Man on Campus worried about how my chicks would react being in the same room together…”

_“Boi.”_

“Give mom and Alice some credit. They’re not going to fight over you at that dinner, dad. Like, jeez, get a grip.”

“That is _not_ what I’m worried about. It’s Gladys. She’s just--” FP threw up his hands. _“_ She’s always… _Gladys.”_

His father did have a point. Gladys didn’t have a filter and her general irritation of FP led to some pretty choice situations, but if there was one thing Jughead learned these past couple of months of talking to her, it wasn’t that she was volatile, it was that she didn’t have the patience to be bothered by bullshit.

Gladys would watch shit go down with calm indifference, but if she got sucked into the pointless dramas, she wasn’t going to go silently. If she didn’t have to clean up messes or dig herself out of a hole of someone else’s making, she wasn’t likely to lash out.  

In a lot of ways, it explained many of her reactions, decisions, and relationships. It didn’t excuse her fuck ups, but it certainly gave rhyme and reason to the actions.

“I’ll talk to her,” Jughead said. “It’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t actually sure talking to his mom would help, but the truth was, if things got bad, he and Betty planned to run out of there and find the nearest wedding chapel, get married, and call it a day.

He was almost hoping things would blow up.

And yet he didn’t. He wanted to celebrate marrying Betty with the people who were most important to them. He wanted to see Betty walk down that aisle. He wanted Betty dancing with him in a beautiful wedding dress. He wanted to see her glowing. He would never stop thinking of her as his princess, who deserved everything he could give her.

Putting a little effort into making this wedding work was a small price to pay for her happiness.

**************

They flew to _Como Quiser_ via the Chopper, and with Betty on his arm looking like a million bucks in her classy white tube dress, he felt cocky enough to smirk at the perplexed parking attendant—who was probably more used to fancy, sleek crafts—while saying, “It needs a bit of a shine. Think you and your boys can give it some love?”

He swiped his finger across his tag and the old fashioned sound of a cash register dinged from the attendant’s own wrist.

Though Jughead threw a tip on top of the service charge for a craft wash, it was a standard 20% markup--nothing terribly impressive.

But the attendant was a sport, or he saw Jughead’s ESDC tags and had a soft spot for servicemen, especially one who looked like he was doing pretty well for himself, large and utilitarian craft aside.

The attendant threw him an amused grin and promised that he’d have the craft spit shined to perfection.

Betty arched an eyebrow in Jughead’s direction, slightly suspicious but also impressed. “How much did you give him?”

Jughead winked. “I got you, baby.”

Jellybean snorted behind him, which was followed by FP’s softly admonishing, “Shush, you.”

Hotdog barked enthusiastically. Even _he_ got a quick trip to the groomers and he looked a heck of a lot more polished, with his hair trimmed and blow dried to shinny white tufts.

Betty giggled before turning to Jughead and patting the dog tags that clinked softly together against his chest. She knew, and Jughead was glad to see that in this, Betty saw right through him. Between them, there were no pretensions.

“I like this look on you,” she said in a low tone, smoothing back the collar of his white blouse. He was wearing a suit, for sure, but unlike the more classic suit he wore when they went to Pop’s, that old timey polished three piece that made him feel like 1950s gangster in a good way, this was a more modern black and white ensemble, a little more casual and bold for the embroidered accents on the coat, with a more stylized blouse.

Betty had helped him pick it when he asked for her help. He had wanted something more _en vogue_ , a little pricier, because between the money he received from the GBI and the ESDC’s settlement department, he could splurge on looking good for the in laws. Also, he didn’t know stylish from fashion _faux pas,_ which was why he tended to choose more classic looks. Safe, but potentially boring.

He didn’t want to be boring in the face of Alice Cooper, mostly because she didn’t respect boring.

Betty had loved the idea of helping him shop for clothes, but he also appreciated how she knew how to hover around the edges of his personal tastes.

It was hot, the way she walked through a designer clothing store and the attendants scampered to cater to her whims when they recognized who she was, but it was loving, the way she snuggled into his side as they sat on the customer’s couch, her arm draped on the back of him, while the designer paraded one suit after another. She had watched him choose, recognizing his cues when he didn’t like something or when he wasn’t sure, and she would direct the staff so they could show him better options.

It was also interesting to him how he found himself enjoying this privilege, of being _important_ because he had money to burn. It was fun to play rich every once in a while.

“This suit makes you look like a hot young movie star,” she said, laughing softly as she gave him the once over.

He found that description amusing, since he knew absolutely nothing about who starred in what movies these days.

Her fingers fiddled lightly with the buttons of his blouse, the top two of which were already undone. Betty had itched to undo a third earlier in the Wyrm, but he told her, “You pop that third button and I’m going to choose to take it the wrong way and finish our business in my cabin.”

That she was ghosting her fingers on those buttons now and giving him that mischievous look told him that she remembered what he said.

He pressed her hand over his chest as he covered it with his, grinning. “Maybe tonight, Alice won’t call me a hoodlum.”

FP mugged a horrified expression. “She better not. Gladys will claw her eyes out, for sure. Has anyone seen her, by the way?”

Jughead rolled his eyes and Betty had to nudge him not to say anything. That his father was stressing him out with his constant fits of anxiety over Gladys was annoying him.

“We’ll see her when we see her, dad.”

Hotdog barked again and Jellybean had to shush him as they stood at the receptionist’s area, waiting to be received.

The maitre’d arrived, bringing with him attendants to see to Hotdog, whom they were clearly expecting.

“He will be served the finest dog food in the galaxy,” the maitre’d told Jellybean pleasantly as the attendants pried Hotdog’s leash gently from her fingers.

Jughead could tell by Jellybean’s expression that she wasn’t impressed. Hotdog would eat anything, high end or low. He needed affection and attention, not fancy dinners.

“Will he have company?” Jellybean asked.

The maitre’d looked bewildered by the question, but one of the attendants, already feeding Hotdog a biscuit while his partner praised Hotdog for being a good boy, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Ms. Jones, he will have company. After dinner, he will join two other dogs in the enclosed backyard. They will play on fresh grass, run through doggie tunnels, and have breaks in between for hydration and treats, with mindful supervision from our award-winning dog whisperer.”

 _Now_ she was impressed.

Jughead had to credit Alice for actually respecting their demands for Hotdog’s care. He turned to Betty, blowing a soft breath through his lips. “Your mom doesn’t fuck around.”

“That’s classic Alice Cooper,” she muttered in a mildly grudging tone as the attendants led Hotdog away.

Hotdog sauntered off, straight backed and head held high, like a show dog, as if even _he_ knew that he had to act fancier.

The maitre’d led them into the restaurant, towards one of the exclusive function rooms, where he had to slide open two beautifully carved double doors.

Jughead saw his mother then, hers and Alice Cooper’s heads close to one another in what looked like affable conversation—for Alice and Gladys, that is. They weren’t smiling, but their shoulders were relaxed, and Polly’s eye roll didn’t seem particularly distressed. Chic was already grinning. Whether that was a good or bad sign, Jughead couldn’t tell.

“Ah, here they are,” Alice said, a measured smile on her face. “It’s nice to see you all again.”

“Hey kids,” said Gladys in a neutral, perhaps somewhat cautious tone. “FP.”

“Gladys.”

Jughead looked between the two of them. So far, so good.

Chic had risen from his chair to give Betty a hug and to shake Jughead’s hand. He looked tanned and astonishingly healthy. Sobriety was winning him back.

“Chic, you look great!” Betty said.  

“The mountains of Tibet agreed with me,” Chic said, cupping her hand in both of his. “My sherpa said I’m a promising spiritual student--”

Polly groaned. “He’s been at this since he got back, I swear--”

“You can do with a bit of zen, Polly. Your aura’s all fucked up--”

“You try running a Fortune 500 company while breastfeeding twins.”

“I can tell you right now I’d be terrible on that second one.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, settle down, you two,” Alice said, rolling her eyes. “I have high hopes for this evening, so I’ll ask you not to ruin it with your nonsense. The food here is delicious and this is a wonderful opportunity for some quality time. We’re all going to be family in a couple of months and it’s cause for celebration, don’t you think?”

Jughead wasn’t going to admit that an optimistic Alice made him slightly nervous, especially when Betty was already expecting the worse. She could read his cues, too, so he didn’t want to add to her anxiety--or anyone else’s for that matter.  FP’s restless energy was already beginning to register by the way his hand was slipping in and out of his pocket at intervals.

“It would mean a lot to me and Betty,” Jughead said as he pulled up a chair for Betty to sit.

“There you go,” Alice said, as everyone began to sit around the table.  

He didn’t know if Alice being affable was a good sign or a ticking time bomb.

“You’re looking spiffy, Junior,” Gladys said, mugging an impressed look and patting his shoulder as he sat beside her . “Your princess is rubbing off on you.”

He definitely would not have chosen an outfit like this without Betty’s help and he knew that Gladys had misgivings about the disparity in their backgrounds. FP had similar misgivings when he and Betty started dating, but his worry had been directed towards Betty’s friends and family, and how they would treat him. Gladys just seemed to have a general prejudice for rich people.

Not entirely unfounded, but she should, by now, at least understand that Betty didn’t operate with the same level of privilege as--perhaps, Chic and Polly, who weren’t even the least bit terrible.

“Hey, she lives in my world 90% of the time. When I step into hers, the respectful thing to do is clean up for it.” He refrained from mentioning that Gladys went a little more uptown in her own outfit, too, leaving out the leather and mesh for a more basic black ensemble. Sure, there was a hint of metal on her high heeled shoes, but nobody was asked to leave their personalities at the door.

Gladys shrugged but didn’t argue.  

On cue, their host entered with a staff of servers, the sommelier, and the cicerones, explaining how, depending on their preference, they may prefer wine or beer with their meal.

Jughead could see FP fidgeting in his seat already, and Jughead could tell he was summoning the courage to speak up.

Chic had no such qualms. “Very classy, but I’m a recovering addict. Anyone else here who couldn’t drink?”

FP raised his hand. “FP. Alcoholic.”

The host handled the awkwardness like a seasoned restaurateur. “For those with alcohol sensitivities, we have a complimentary array of fresh juices and sweet beverages.”

 _“Alcohol sensitivities,”_ Jellybean mouthed.

“I gotta remember that one,” FP said, wagging a finger at the host.

Betty giggled and Alice shot her a split second glare for it. Fortunately, they started getting served, which cut through some of the tension for a few minutes.

Polly started asking about their wedding venue, which Jughead could tell Betty was answering with a bit of trepidation. They had the place reserved, which gave Betty the chance to describe how beautiful the destination was and what Bal Athuria was all about.

“Did you say monks?” Chic said, his eyes lighting up.

Alice shot him a pointed look. “Don’t start.”

“I always wanted to see the planet,” Gladys remarked. “Couldn’t think of a better reason to be there than Jughead and Betty’s wedding. I’m sure it’s going to be very pretty and romantic--mine was kind of a bummer.”

 _And so it begins._ “Mom.”

Gladys put up her hands. “Oh, I’m over it, junior. Just happy yours is gonna be memorable in a good way.”

“Memorable, period,” FP muttered. “We were both drunk out of our minds during ours.”

 _Of course they were._ “Great.”

Chic snorted, slurping his glass of grape juice noisily. “Well, mom was sixteen and pregnant with me during hers. And she married a murderer, so--”

 _“Charles Cooper,”_ Alice hissed.

“What? It’s the truth.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “You know how mother feels about anything ugly, Chic.”

Jellybean barked a laugh.

Gladys chuckled, raising a glass of wine. “I think I like your kids, Alice.”

Alice huffed. “Yes, well, that makes one of us, right now. Anyway, I prefer to put the past in the past, don’t you think? I’m sure you’ve had your share of unsavory truths.”

“We all do.” Glady’s eyes darted to FP, who merely shook his head.

Betty sighed and eyed her glass of wine dangerously. She was a lightweight, and she tended to space her alcohol to avoid getting drunk, especially this early on in the evening, but he could tell by her look that she was contemplating downing the entire thing. Jughead had hoped she didn’t get too stressed by this dinner, so he tried to soothe her with a gentle squeeze.

“So have you sent out the save-the-dates?” Polly asked.

“Really, Pol, do I have to? Sending out actual invitations is save-the-date enough.” Betty cast Jughead a look that said this was where the worst of it began. He smoothed her hair back from her face and cast her a small smile.

_It’s going to be fine._

Polly blinked. “You aren’t sending out save-the-dates?”

Jellybean sniffed her wine and made a face. “What’s the difference between a save-the-date and an invitation?”

“The latter comes in a bigger, thicker envelope,” Chic drawled.

Polly scowled. “That is _not_ the only difference.”

“I think it is,” Gladys said.

“Now, now,” FP interjected. “It’s more like the first is a teaser and the invitation’s the main event.”

“Are you even going to let us host your engagement party?” Polly asked Betty in a snappish tone. Polly was in fine form today. “Or let’s start with your souvenirs. Have you considered what kind you’d like to have? I always say, go with something useful or delicious.”

Betty took a deep, long breath.

“Forget all that,” Alice snapped with an arch of her eyebrow. “D’you have a wedding dress yet, Betty?”

_Uh, oh._

“Not yet, mom.”

Polly gasped. “Betty!”

Betty banged her fist lightly on the table. “Shut up, Pol.”

Chic laughed. “Baby sis living on the edge! I’m so proud.”

“Oh, don’t encourage her Charles, _really.”_ Alice pointed at Jellybean’s glass. “Are you going to drink that, dear?”

“Mom said you’re looking at a July wedding--that’s three months away!” Polly exclaimed.

Jughead could see Betty’s jaw tensing and he could tell she was about to say something she may regret.

“V’s been helping her out,” Jughead said, knowing that Polly and Alice saw Veronica as a reliable event planner, so with Veronica unworried by Betty taking her time with her dress, he was almost certain that would be enough to calm them down. “She’s not pressed. V thinks Betty has plenty of time to decide. Besides, Betty will look great in absolutely anything.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and it had the desired effect. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

Gladys slapped the back of her hand on his shoulder. “Aw. You’re sweet, junior. Dunno where you get it.” She threw FP a withering look.

FP’s jaw dropped. _“What—“_

“Leave it, dad,” Jellybean interjected before he could say anything else.

Jughead resisted the urge to sigh.

“The food’s here! Thank God,” Betty said as the servers marched through the doors, rolling in trays with artfully flat rocks.

The host took over for several minutes, explaining what the food was and what the chef envisioned from this presentation of it. Jughead could feel Betty drawing calm from this distraction because her grip on his hand loosened. He massaged the back of her hand gently with his thumb and she gave him a grateful smile.

He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, whispering, “We’re doing fine, baby. You’re good.”

She nodded.

The food was certainly delicious. As fancy as it all was, the host always elaborately explained how to eat the artfully dressed food. Gladys’ eyebrow only arched twice, and even when Jellybean asked questions, the host was more than happy to answer.

The portions, of course, looked tiny, and as the host and servers left so they can enjoy the first course, FP wondered those very thoughts out loud.

“This is all very nice, Alice, but it’s either you really never knew me or you’re punishing me for something,” FP said, cutting into his miniscule sheet of pork.

Gladys rolled her eyes. “Simmer down, roughneck. There’s going to be thirteen more of these things. Don’t you watch the Travel Network?”

“Thirteen of these is an appetizer.”

Alice sighed. “It’s just a _amuse bouche,_ FP. The portions will get heavier as the courses come. Quit complaining.”

“I’m not complaining! But come on--”

“Stuff it, FP. Check your trailer park at the door. We all did our time at Sunnyside trailer park, but you don’t see Gladys and I hanging onto Sundays at the Pork Pen.”

Polly gasped--such was her horror at the mention of poverty, and Chic couldn’t hide the grin from his face even as his jaw dropped in surprise.

Gladys laughed as she wagged a knife in Alice’s direction. “There she is! I bet you still have that leather jacket in the back of your closet!”

“I looked damn good in it. Why should I get rid of it?”

“Sundays at the Pork Pen were _great,”_ FP said, scowling. “They gave you a mountain of ribs for less than half the price of this plate, that’s for sure.”

“Sundays at the Pork Pen were great for _you_ ,” Alice grumbled, rolling her eyes and drinking more wine. “Everyone was drunk and rowdy, so maybe yeah--thanks, Pork Pen, for making me realize what I _didn’t_ want my life to be like. That much pork’s bad for you, anyway, old man.”

“Hey, hey! Who you calling old, Alice?”

Gladys snorted. _“You,_ old man. Even back then, you were my older-man boyfriend.”

“Oh, God,” Jughead muttered, suddenly wishing there was more to the _amuse bouche,_ too, because his was long gone and now he had nothing but the conversation to focus on.

“This is better than I thought! Pulling out the receipts!” Chic cried, slapping the back of his hand on Jellybean’s shoulder, who seemed just as delighted by the developments.

Alice’s face lit with dark glee. “That’s right, you’re what, Gladys--at least 7 years younger than both of us? Newly legal when you and FP got together.”

 _“Mom!”_ Betty gasped, her face turning an incredible shade of red.

Gladys seemed to think about it, unbothered. “Well, not _newly._ I was twenty, but yeah, he was _older._ I was 22 when I had Jughead.”

Jughead _did not_ want to picture it. He closed his eyes and hoped to shake any thought he may have of a young Gladys Tilly catching the eye of 28-year-old FP Jones.

“What are you now, Jug? 29?” Jellybean asked. “Like dad must’ve looked exactly like you back then.”

“Thanks, JB. Thanks for that totally unnecessary visual.”

“And Betty’s mom at _her_ age,” Chic pointed out. “This is just getting more awkward by the second.”

 _“Oh. My God,”_ Betty whispered. “Just kill me right now.”

“I am incredibly uncomfortable,” Polly huffed.

Jughead had to put his hand up amidst Gladys’s vicious laughter. “Alright, mom, dad, _Alice--_ you had your fun.”

Alice flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I aged quite well, thank you. I still look fantastic in a swimsuit. Take a good look, Jughead. This is Betty twenty five years from now.”

 _“Jesus, Alice,”_ Jughead grumbled under his breath, looking anywhere but _at_ Alice.

Gladys chuckled. “You sure you didn’t get help for that, Cooper?”

“For fuck’s sake, Gladys!” FP cried.

Gladys held her hands out. “What? You can’t tell me--”

Alice sighed loudly. “So I’ve had a couple of botox injections and laser treatments. My husband was a psychotic murderer and we had money. A girl’s gotta do what she can.”

Gladys laughed, vindicated.

“I plan to use money to my advantage for as long as I have it,” Polly pointed out in a lofty tone. “I will buy the hell out of youth for however much I could.”

Betty just sank into the solace of her hands.

The second course came, and Jughead was beginning to feel like the entire dinner was going to be an Off Broadway play, the awkward scenes divided by _haute cuisine._

It was after the hot soup was poured from teapots that Alice took up the conversation again, unfazed by the awkwardness. “Speaking of using money to my advantage…”

Betty’s shoulders tensed. “Oh, God help us.”

“I came up with a wonderful idea a couple of weeks ago,” Alice continued.

“I can’t wait,” Chic said, leaning over his fancy bowl of soup.

“If there’s anything good that came out of those dreadful proceedings with Hal--”

“You mean dad’s murder trial?” Chic elaborated.

Betty was feeling rather edgy herself. “You mean, apart from my psycho father being put away where he can’t harm anyone else?”

Alice wasn’t the least bit bothered by these morbid interruptions. “Yes, apart from that--it’s that I got to spend quality time with my children and grandkids. Being so isolated from the rest of the galaxy, I learned so many things about them that I think improved my relationship with them all, so here’s my proposal--”

Jughead’s eyes widened. _Dear God, there’s a proposal._

“I’d like to invite everyone to a two-week getaway in a mountain springs resort in Peshwa, out in the 2nd Quad. It’s a beautiful place, relaxing, all-expenses paid--by me--we can get spa treatments and eat well, where we can all disconnect from everything and get to know one another as a family. It will be sublime.”

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Jughead couldn’t wrap his head around it, at all. Two weeks of _this?_ He could certainly take the path of least resistance when it meant keeping his wildly strong opinions to himself for a few hours, but _two weeks?_ It was bound to get ugly.

They weren’t even at the main course when the whole table blew up.

True to form, Gladys spoke first. “You know what, Alice? This is you being a complete cunt.”

“There she is!” FP cried.

 _“Mom!”_ That was too much, even for Jughead.

Gladys was, as usual, not going to be silenced. “She can’t get control of your wedding so she’s coming at you with this.”

Before Jughead can diffuse the situation, Betty was already deeply agitated. “I will absolutely not subject myself to two weeks of you and Polly badgering me about our wedding plans!”

Polly’s jaw dropped. “Don’t point your finger at me, Betty. I don’t want this, either! Mother, have you lost your mind? I can’t be away from the company for two weeks!”

Chic was grinning. “You totally need this, Pol. You’ve been so high strung.”

“Oh, says the unemployed recovering addict!”

“How’s your unemployed boyfriend doing, by the way?”

Jellybean seemed completely relaxed. “Hey, everything’s free, right? What’s everyone so mad about?”

Chic chuckled. “Yeah, we won’t have WiFi there, squirt.”

 _Now_ Jellybean looked agitated. “This is bullshit!”

Jughead was getting agitated himself. “Um, I need access to my support group and therapies? Every other day. Seriously.”

Alice sighed. “They will make an exception for you, Jughead. And for Chic and FP’s sponsors. I checked. They _have_ WiFi, but strictly for administration, emergencies, and personal therapy. They won’t make exceptions for video gaming.”

Jellybean scowled. “What the fuck am I supposed to do for two weeks without access to my network?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jellybean,” Alice replied irritably. “Play fetch with Bratwurst, or something.”

“His _name_ is Hotdog.”

Everyone started talking above each other, with Jughead directing his efforts to calming down his mother and sister. He didn’t _dare_ get between Betty and her mother, and from what he could tell, Chic was needling Polly into a worst state.

“This is on you, Alice,” FP said, his lips pursing with annoyance. “Where do you get off—“

“You see, this is _exactly_ why we need this getaway!” Alice finally cried above the din. “Can everyone settle the hell down and let me finish?”

Gladys’s frown was fierce. “But—“

“Mom, can you—please?” Jughead, implored, hoping to God that the doors of their private room were thick enough to muffle their noise.

Betty growled but she did quiet down while the rest of them simmered in their seats.

Alice pushed back a strand that had come loose from her perfect coif. “That’s better. We don’t _have_ to do two weeks. We can do _five_ days. You can’t tell me five days is too much. The Whyte Wyrm has had to travel in wormholes for that long and everyone else can get some PTO time—yes, Polly, even you. I’ll schedule it far enough for everyone to prepare for it. For God’s sake, it’s a paradise, and I’m paying for everything. You all should be thankful that I’m making an active effort for all of us to bond and be a family.”

“Are you inviting Ezekiel?” Polly asked.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Sure. I’ll invite Ezekiel.”

This suggestion seemed to appease Polly considerably.

“Mom, if Juggie and I agree to this, it doesn’t mean you get to tell us what to do at our wedding.”

“Understood,” Alice said, firmly. “Anything else?”

“The food better be edible, Alice.” FP was not joking. “None of the New Age crap places like that serve. If I have to eat salads and quinoa all day, I can’t be held responsible for my behavior.”

Alice made a sound of frustration. “Fine. I’ll have the menu customized. Just don’t expect a roasted pig, FP. You ought to have some respect for your body, anyway.”

Gladys smirked. “You, of all people, should know that detox is good for you.”

“Haha, not funny, Gladys.”

“We _all_ can use some rest and relaxation,” Alice said. “This will be good for all of us, I promise. I’ll pull together some dates and we can all come to an accord. You’ll all thank me for this later. Besides, it will be a good opportunity to spend time with our kids.” She looked pointedly at Polly and Gladys, who both huffed but didn’t argue.

Five days was definitely better than two weeks, but it was still daunting to think about FP and Gladys being in the same place for five days straight. Perhaps the place was big enough for them to stay separated most of the time.

As the outrage tapered to individual contemplation, mostly because they were being served anew and the prepared sardines on their plate was incredibly delicious, Jughead thought that this dinner had gone exactly as everyone had expected.

God only knows, the Cooper-Jones retreat was either going to be a disastrous wasteland or Alice, just like now, will wrestle them all into something resembling a family.

********************

The drawn out sigh that Betty expelled as she sank into the crook of his arms was summary enough.

He stifled a smile, thinking, with unusual optimism, that all things considered, the evening had wrought no casualties or life-threatening injuries. It was a win in many respects.

Draping his blanket over them, Jughead adjusted them both into a more comfortable position before settling and letting his fingers run idly through her hair.

“That could’ve gone worse, you know,” he said, lazily.

She gave a soft snort. “I guess. I’m just afraid that what we got was a sneak peek and that the worst is yet to come. There’s a reason we’re all very happy in our little pods. Us, here at the Wyrm, your mom checking in when she feels like it, and my family each doing their own things and dropping in on one another every once in a while, often with a prearranged time and a specific reason for it…”

Jughead laughed softly. “You mean, like an appointment?”

She pinched his side lightly and he gave a mild complaint. “The Coopers are weird that way.”

“Look, far be it that I’d ever agree with Alice, but she does have a point.  You said so yourself, being with your family all those weeks gave you a new perspective of them, and I guess my family kind of needs a bit of a reset, too. We may as well do this all together.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sweetly cynical Juggie?”

He stifled a grin. It was a little difficult to stay cynical, lately. The truth was, he had just enough challenges in his life to give him that healthy dose of balance, that assurance that not all was perfect, so that he could really appreciate the good things. Perhaps _that_ was the cynic in him--that he was optimistic about certain things, because he knew he was earning it, daily, in other ways, that this wasn’t some cosmic mistake.

“You’re just cranky because I agree with your mother.”

“You’ll make an apt son-in-law, yet.”

God, he hoped not.

*******************

Peshwa was, as promised, a paradise. It had just enough volcanoes to keep its soil fertile and enough water to keep its terrain habitable and teeming with wildlife. Having been discovered early on by the right people, it immediately became a protected land, affording it the privilege of thriving without human interference for 90% of its surface area. Inorganic material was forbidden from ever being left in its atmosphere for long periods of time, and while it did have normal weather patterns, subjecting it to bouts of wet weather and the occasional typhoon, half the time it was bright and sunny along its coasts and slightly cooler in its mountains.

 _Xīnshēng,_ the lavish and exclusive destination resort, specialized in rejuvenation and relaxation. It’s name meant “rebirth” and it made lofty promises about its power to renew its guests.

Betty was ready to embrace it and enjoy its luxuries. The invitations had gotten sent out weeks before, she had a dress, their venue only needed the headcount to finalize it, and all the little details that would make their wedding memorable were supposedly ironed out. If anyone had any opinions about how they were going to celebrate their nuptials, they just had to stew on it, because planning was practically done.

“Nice hotel,” FP remarked as they descended the Wyrm’s gangplank and saw the beautifully self-sustainable structure of wood, pagoda roofs, and natural rock.  

Their host, who was waiting for them at the landing with a handful of attendants, cast FP a pleasant smile. One attended carried a tray of steamed towelettes, another bore a tray of freshly squeezed fruit juices, yet another bore a tray of doggie treats, and a fourth had a clipboard--for what, they were yet to learn.

“We are more than a hotel,” the host said in a soothing, non-threatening voice. “We are a _sanctuary--_ a place where the weary come to replenish their better selves. Welcome to _Xīnshēng.”_

 _“Aiyayay,”_ Gladys drawled. She was back in her leathers and metal studs. Perhaps the unlikeliest guest this planet has ever seen.

“What if I don’t have a better self? Can I replenish my worst self?”

Jughead shot Jellybean a glare.

“Is there a smoking area in this place?” FP asked.

Hotdog gave a hearty woof, approaching the attendant with the doggy treats and immediately getting lavished with attention.

Betty had to summon everything Alice ever taught her to keep a straight face and stifle her laughter, because she could see Jughead getting visibly agitated by his family’s asides.

He looked at all of them irritably and said, “Guys, I just need you all to stop being animals. Five minutes. Just five fucking minutes.”

“There are designated smoking areas, for sure,” said the host, eagerly, unfazed by the onslaught of cynicism. “Cigarettes, however, are not allowed. They contain non biodegradable materials. We can provide you organic substitutes--even marijuana. Exotic cigars are allowed. We just ask that you remove it of any plastics before entering the premises.”

“Did someone say marijuana?” Jellybean piped.

“ _Xīnshēng_ will _always_ find your _chi.”_

“I know my chi, and it likes Purple Kush.”

Jughead ran his hand down his face. “Can we just--”

“Baby,” Betty said in a soothing tone. She wrapped his arm in her embrace and said, “It’s going to be fine. I’m really optimistic that we can at least get some hot springs time and more hours of sleep than we’ve ever had. If that’s all I get from this trip, that’ll make me happy. Besides, I get to see the twins! I miss them. They’ve grown so much, Jug.”

She could see the tension falling away from his face at the mention of the twins. It worked every time. He draped his arm over her shoulders and took a glass of fruit juice. “Papaya, right?”

The host nodded and smiled. “The freshest and best. My staff will take care of your luggage, so please do not worry about it. My name is Jie and I will be your host throughout your stay. I will bring you to your rooms, shortly. In the meantime, please walk this way.”

Aside from Jellybean imitating exactly how the host was walking, the rest of them followed, their curiosity getting the better of them. The other attendants trailed behind them and the one with the clipboard appeared to be taking notes.

“Have the other members of our party arrived yet?” Betty asked.

“Oh, indeed. Alice Smith has been here since yesterday, and your sister is here with her children and a charming young man she calls her SO.”

Gladys arched an eyebrow. “Significant other? Really?”

“Spiritual other, actually.”

Betty rolled her eyes at Polly’s painful predictability.

Jie smiled amicably. “He has a very open chi.”

“I bet he fits right in,” Betty muttered. “Can’t wait to see June and Woody, though!”

Jie walked them through the “sanctuary” and Betty had to admit that it was breathtaking.

It was a mountain resort, beautifully nestled into the side of Mount Wulao, which formed part of network of gently active volcanoes that oozed lava into Peshwa’s oceans about 75 miles away. _Xīnshēng_ enjoyed the benefits of that volcanic activity with its countless mountain springs. They had dozens of them throughout the resort, many of them tucked into private alcoves. Each of them can take one and never see each other for days.

There was still a good amount of wild vegetation between the manicured gardens, which gave a lovelier effect of nature and modern conveniences working hand in hand.

The entire place, Jie explained, was powered and sustained by steam energy, made possible by the constant volcanic activity, and Betty could see it. There was an element of steampunk interspersed with the oriental decor. The New Age element was also very apparent in the lighting, which were enhanced by crystals.

There was incense and scented oils everywhere.

“That fragrance is… strong,” Jughead said in a low voice.

Jie heard him and nodded. “Only initially. You will get used to it and will cease to notice it after the first day. Our springs are heated by the upwelling of solidified magma that has been cooling for the last 35 million years, which is a more shallow and benign geothermal system compared to the deep percolations further south. _Those_ springs have a very strong rotten egg smell. Here, we barely get that odor, but we prefer to do away with the slightest hint of it. We chose very relaxing scents, so as not to irritate more sensitive noses.”

Betty giggled and touched his nose. “We don’t want to offend that pretty nose, do we?”

He made a face at her, grinning.

Jie walked them through the open grounds, passing staff and maintenance workers who waved readily at them.

They approached the main structure, incredibly designed with an ancient temple feel but with a modern flair of lighter colors, airier spaces, and minimalist decor.

“There are a variety of ways you can make the most of your time here in _Xīnshēng,”_ Jie said as she walked them through the magnificent property. “Aside from our natural hot springs, we have daily yoga classes--all 11 types of them, each led by an experienced and certified yogi. For more solitary and invigorating exercises, we have challenging running and hiking paths all around the property and plenty of rock faces for climbing. If you like a group activity, we have guides for white water rafting and mountain biking. We also have fitness facilities in case you prefer a more indoor experience. Our spa facilities are the best in the galaxy. We can write out a spa plan for you, for couples, or for groups, but I do believe Alice arranged for your spa treatments already--”

“Of course she did,” Betty grumbled.

Jie laughed softly. “Oh, she merely paid for the packages. You are still free to choose your path to wellness. Here at _Xīnshēng,_ your journey is your own to take. Nobody else can decide for you.”

“Boy, that must’ve ruffled her feathers,” FP remarked.  

The smile Jie flashed was one of amusement. “She had an opinion.”

Gladys snorted softly. “Alice always does.”

As if she heard them, Alice emerged from one of the hallways, dressed in resort-issued Chinese robes and a smile on her face.

“Speak of the Devil,” FP said.

“Finally, you’re here!” Alice said, floating towards them. She made straight for Betty. “You look positively wonderful, my dear.”

She gave Betty an air kiss on one cheek, then the other.

Betty was still in her shirt and jumpers, so she wasn’t sure what her mother found so extraordinary about her looks today. She stared at her mother suspiciously, leaning away in case this was an impostor in disguise. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Elizabeth?”

Betty exchanged wary looks with Jughead, then she leaned over and sniffed, noting that telling fragrance clinging to Alice’s hair. “Oh, my God, you’re _high.”_

Jellybean had no qualms laughing out loud. Jughead was a little more restrained, but the redness of his face was a clear indication that he found this funnier than he let on.

Alice waved away Betty’s judgemental tone. “Oh, I am _not_ high. I’m relaxed. The weed here is the best in the galaxy and locally grown on this rich, volcanic soil. Why wouldn’t I partake? Jughead, dear, it’s nice to see you again.” She tried to air kiss Jughead, who wasn’t quite sure what to do.

When she started approaching Gladys, Gladys glared at her and stabbed a finger in the air between them. “Don’t you dare.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “You need to smoke some. You are so uptight.”

Betty didn’t think she’d live to see the day her mother would tell someone like Gladys off for being more _uptight_ than she was.

“FP, you’re going to love this place.” Alice threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. FP awkwardly reciprocated, and she held on.

She didn’t seem keen on letting go.

“Ah, where did we go wrong?” Alice muttered in serene contemplation.

“Er--”

Betty clamped her lips to a line, trying to avoid the look on Gladys’s face that only made this already awkward situation worst. “Perfect. This is perfect.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Alice replied. Her eyes were closing now.

“That was sarcasm, mom.”

Hotdog gave a loud woof.

Alice finally disengaged and she tried to pet Hotdog who immediately turned tail and hid behind Jughead’s legs. He obviously knew who to trust.

Unfazed, Alice approached Jellybean.

Jellybean was not having it. She shoved her backpack between her and Alice. “Great. Hi. Where are our rooms?”

“Ah, yes. Your rooms,” Jie said in a pleasantly polite tone. “Villas, actually.”

“I spared no expense,” Alice interjected, proudly. “Gladys, you and FP will be pleased.”

Gladys frowned. “Alice, that better not mean FP and I have to share a villa.”

“Oh, did you not want to?”

FP looked like he was about to walk out of there. “I’m staying at the Wyrm--”

“I’m _kidding,”_ Alice drawled before he could go. Her long suffering sigh was incredibly dramatic. “Please. Even I can’t get high enough to block that toxicity from my atmosphere. You definitely have separate villas. Jellybean, I got you one of those treehouse ones. It’s smaller but I figured you’d like that sort of isolation. Salami should have no trouble getting up there. There’s a long way he can take to get on a footbridge that goes right up to the front door.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome.” She looked pleased enough to ignore how Alice got Hotdog’s name wrong, yet again, and her fingers were already twitching from a lack of keyboard. Betty had no doubt that in spite of the controlled WiFi, Jellybean would have no problem accessing the resort’s network. “Like, what do I have to do in exchange?”

Alice looked taken aback.

“Ata girl,” Gladys said with a smirk. “She knows nothing is free.”

Alice shot Gladys a glare. “Oh, for goodness sake, you don’t have to pay me, Jellybean. My only _request--”_

“Here we go.”

“--is that you show up for the yoga classes I signed all of us up for.”

“Excuse me,” Jughead said, with a scowl so deeply etched that it was certain to leave a permanent mark. “Did you say you signed _all of us_ up for yoga classes? Do I _look_ like I yoga class? What part of me looks like yoga class?”

Betty closed her eyes. Her mother had done it. She _finally_ broke through Jughead’s defenses.

 _“Don’t_ be such a baby,” Alice huffed.

FP sighed and shook his head. “Alice.”

That’s all he said as he walked off, down the hallway. He probably had no idea where he was headed, but Betty couldn’t blame him.

“It’s _just_ Vinyasa!” Alice cried after him.  

Jughead looked at Betty imploringly and she had to stifle a laugh. In the grand scheme of things, yoga was not the worst thing in the world for him.

“It’s active meditation, babe,” she said, gently. “You always said regular meditation was boring. This will challenge you and be more up your speed. I’ll stay in front of you so you can stare at my butt whenever you like.”

He cast her a sardonic grin. “That butt _is_ cute.”

Alice planted her hands on her hips. “Look, I am fully aware that if everyone had a choice, we’d all be going off alone, doing our own thing, and I completely understand that, but the purpose of this getaway was for us to bond. Yoga is a non-threatening way to get us all in one place for 45 minutes a day. I think that’s a reasonable ask from someone who paid for everything so we can all be together, don’t you think?”

There were eyerolls, but no one said anything to argue, and Betty did actually think this was a reasonable ask.

“Besides,” Alice continued airily. “It’s not like anyone can drag you to this thing. The choice is still yours--on whether you’ll join or not. I’m just saying. We’re going to be a family whether we like it or not and I’m just trying to make the transition easier for all of us.”

Gladys made a growling sound. “Fine. Ugh, Alice. You better give me some of that weed or I may drag you down a cliff with me.”

“I have some in my room right now. Walk with me and let us partake. I’ll walk you to your room, later. Jie, will you take the rest of them?”

“Of course, Alice. Come right this way, Betty and Jughead. We’ll drop Jellybean off, first.”

Betty was not at all surprised that Jie knew all of them by name without being introduced. She followed Jie and looped her arm around Jughead’s as they walked. Jellybean and Hotdog followed right behind them.

“Do you really think mom and Alice getting high together is a good idea?” Jughead asked.

“I haven’t the slightest clue.”

Jie flashed them a smile over her shoulder. “Like we say here in _Xīnshēng_ : May the path you follow to your chi be your own.”

 

tbc


	3. The Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be fluffy, sexy, and hopefully, funny.

 

Alice probably gave them one of the nicer villas, because not only was the suite insanely spacious, but the view from their private balcony was beyond incredible, overlooking a luscious valley of tall, jutting rock formations, it’s yellow stone interspersed with rich brushes of green plantlife and exotic, sideways growing trees. The mountain fog crept steadily between the chasms, adding to the mystic beauty of the this strange, alien valley.

Jughead could see life teeming from each isolated peak, some swimming through the forest at the base but many hopping from one crag to another, overhead.

He perched his elbows along the railing of their balcony, marveling at the perfect temperatures and the fresh mountain air. The steam from their private hot spring drifted lazily into the cool air, inviting--tempting. There wasn’t another villa in sight.

Like his amorous thoughts carried through the mist, Betty’s arms slipped around him from behind. He took a moment to enjoy her warmth before he turned to enfold her into his embrace. “This place is Nirvana.”

She nodded. “Mom really outdid herself this time. If we stayed in this villa all week, it would be magical enough, but there’s really so many other things to enjoy.”

He would love to hike some of the trails, or do some mountain climbing with her. Not to mention spending some time with the twins. He was not overly enthused about yoga, but Betty’s gentle prodding about trying out active meditation was enough to convince him.

After this retreat, they’d have a little less than two weeks before the wedding, and as happy as he was to finally being married to the love of his life, he wondered if she wouldn’t feel underwhelmed by the _after_ part. After the celebrations and their two-week honeymoon, they’d be going back to the Wyrm, moving into his, or maybe her cabin together, and living their lives as bounty hunters and engineers, like they have in the last year.

Sure, they had countless adventures--the life of a cowboy and space traveler was never a dull one, but that was oddly their normal. Would she seek something new? Could he give it to her if she asked? Like, what if she wanted to settle somewhere suburban, for example? It wouldn’t be an unreasonable request.

He hated it when he had these moments of doubt, because it ultimately seemed like he was doubting her, too, but he knew how destructive these thoughts could be if he let them fester.

“Betts, have you ever thought about wanting something else for us? Like having a life other than being on the Wyrm?”

She looked up and met his gaze, surprise evident on her face.  “What do you mean? Like flying in our own ship?”

He hadn’t even thought of that. “Maybe. Or anything else. Just not on the Wyrm. Was that ever a thought for you?”

She began to look worried. “Juggie… _no._ Did you want something else?”

Cupping her face in his hands, he began to feel like he was going to worry her for nothing. “I could fly on that ship forever with you, but I just want to make sure you aren’t thinking of something else. Something different. I want you to be happy.”

“I couldn’t think of anything else that would make me happier than being on the Wyrm, seeing new planets, learning new things, and catching bad guys,” she said in the most serious tone he’d ever heard her speak. “Did you think that after the wedding, I’d want to settle down?”

“I want to be completely sure that I’m reading everything right.”

She tiptoed to kiss him, and he let her lips settle the doubts that were forming, letting them fade into the mist. “I love what we’re doing, Juggie. I couldn’t think of a better way to live our lives. And sure, a change of pace--like _this,_ is nice every once in a while, but I will probably be crazy ready to head back out by the end of the week.”

He chuckled, feeling his spirits lifting again. “And what are you going to do on our honeymoon? That’s a two-week getaway, in case you forgot.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something to preoccupy myself.” She grinned, kissing him again.

He could hardly wait.

He hadn’t had a real vacation in ages. The last one might have been some ESDC-sanctioned R&R in some far flung space station that offered gambling, performances from long-time entertainers, tourist traps, and lots and lots of prostitutes. Needless to say, none of that interested him in the least.

This spa getaway was the closest he’d ever come to something possibly relaxing—if they could get away from Alice’s well-intentioned staging.

The thought of him and Betty just being _anywhere_ without the cares of the galaxy weighing them down was incredible enough, but honeymooning with her on planet Faye, its sunny, white sand beaches surrounded by calm, warm, and blue waters? That was heaven of itself.

The all-inclusive resort would assure that they wouldn’t have to worry about food and drink, and if they wanted any kind of water activity, there would be experts on staff to guide them through it, but really, if all he and Betty did was laze around in hammocks, have constant sex on one of its many private beaches, and nap under the shade of a coconut tree, it could be considered his ultimate reward for putting up with shit for most of his life.

The call of a mountain hawk cut through his reverie, and he smiled at Betty’s upturned face. Her hands had snaked beneath his shirt and was skirting the edges of his pants along his waist.

“I’ve been thinking about these hot springs,” she whispered, her lips pressing softly along his throat. “And you and me completely naked.”

She didn’t need to say much, really.

He started to peel his shirt off, and she gave a pleased hum, pushing off the top of her jumper. He couldn’t wait to sit in that warm, volcanic mountain water and just have her on top of him, giving him complete access to her beautiful breasts while she rode him again and again. He was already worked up.

He watched hungrily as her jumper pooled to her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her tiny shirt and panties. The full length of her legs made him lick his lips. He couldn’t wait to feel them around his body. Her shirt came off, and the wonder that was a lacy bra—new by the looks of it—wrapping her incredible breasts, made him groan with need.

“Like it?” she teased, hooking her thumbs into the straps of them and pulling the stretchy material, slowly. “Have a couple more of these.”

He loved her taste in underwear but honestly, his eyes were laser focused the soft slopes of her breasts dipping into that lovely cleavage, and he hardly cared what they were wrapped in.

He hurriedly began to unbutton the front of his cargos. He was hard and his pants were pinching, but a chiming sound cut through his lustful haze.

He scowled when her thumbs dislodged from her straps to deal with this distraction.

“But—“

“That’s a phone,” she muttered, looking around. “The hotel’s…” She shot into their room and picked up the wireless. It chimed again in her hand.

“Do we care?” The gruffness of his voice was unmistakable, following her inside. Maybe it was just room service.

She shot him a somewhat apologetic look, and as much as this interruption was killing him, he understood where she was coming from. She didn’t get to spend a lot of time with her family and if they were calling, he could put his dick back in his pants for a few hours.

She answered the call. “Polly!” Betty said after a moment’s pause.

Moaning softly to himself, Jughead fell back against the bed spread and slung his arm over his eyes. This called for some dramatics.

“Yes, we just got here,” she continued, sitting beside him on the bed and gently running her hand against his chest in a soothing gesture.

It wasn’t really helping.

He bit his lip and caught her hand in his, kissing the back of it instead of telling her that anything she did at this point was just turning him on worse.

“Of course we’d like to see you and the twins!” She shot him a bright eyed look.

Seeing the twins would almost make up for the interruption.

“We’re looking forward to meeting Ezekiel.” She rolled her eyes. “We haven’t had lunch, no… okay, we’ll see you in a bit.”

He smiled, liking how they were a “we”. He rubbed his hand down her spine as she sighed and—to his surprise, slung her legs over his body.

“We have ten minutes, pilot,” she said, unbuttoning his pants. “We can play later.”

He grinned, his desire springing back to life. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

 

******************

 

Jughead loved babies. It was the newness of them and those fresh little hands and feet. They were a bundle of soft human, portable and sweet. They smelled like powder and they made delightful burbling sounds, whether they were laughing or making random babbling noises.

The last time he held Juniper and Dagwood, they were swaddled in soft blankets--sleepy little things that could fit in woven bassinets. Now, several months later, they were awake and crawling, pulling themselves up by every grabable surface, and Jughead was utterly fascinated by their efforts.

June, who was clinging to her mother’s leg, flung her arms up in the air and screeched with delight at the sight of Betty, while Woody, several feet away on his knees and hands, looked up at Jughead’s approach with avid curiosity.

Jughead went straight to Woody, crouching on the floor with him and putting out his hands in a gesture to pick him up. “Hey, sport. Remember me?”

Woody said nothing. He just raised his arm and burbled. That was signal enough. Jughead picked him off the floor and carried him, a bundle of chubbiness in what was no doubt the most expensive onesies in the quadrant.

Betty already had June in her arms as she said hello to her sister with a cheek kiss.  

Woody was tugging relentlessly at Jughead’s hair when he went to greet Polly.

“I think he _does_ remember you, Jughead,” Polly remarked. “He’s never usually this calm with new faces.”

Jughead rubbed Woody’s back. “He just knows I’m the fun uncle, that’s all. I’ll teach him how to fly a craft.”

Betty giggled. “And I’ll teach June how to fix an an engine. It’s all they need to adventure out in space together.”

“Ugh, don’t you dare, you two,” Polly said, but with clear affection.

A man wearing all-white linen seemed to materialize by Polly’s side. He was taller than Polly, with dark almond-shaped eyes, a sharp jaw, and dark brown hair, and while he wasn’t smiling, he looked very serene, like nothing bothered him.  

Polly wasted no time. “This is Ezekiel Zubiri, my SO. Ezekiel, this is my sister, Betty and her fiance, Jughead Jones. She works as a engineer for the ship they both fly in and he is a fugitive recovery agent.”

Jughead had to stifle the smirk that threatened to overcome his face. Polly was always the picture of propriety, introducing them as if their names and faces hadn’t been plastered all over the galaxy when Hal’s misdeeds exploded on mass media.

He appreciated the sense of normalcy, how Polly was reshaping their narrative so that they can start off on relatively normal footing.

Ezekiel pressed his hand to his heart before reaching out to shake their hands, one at a time, saying, “It’s such a pleasure to meet you both. Polly speaks well of you two and I’m happy that I can get to know you both on this retreat.”

His voice was calming, with a soft, somewhat singsong quality, and Jughead had to admit that the warmth of his hands was uncannily comforting, like he’d been keeping them warm all this time specifically for the handshake.

They were rough hands--worker hands. Betty mentioned how Ezekiel’s gifts were in working the land, perhaps perfect for the so-called Farm that Polly communed with. His tanned skin was probably a direct result of that work, and Jughead couldn’t help but think that Ezekiel being unemployed was kind of an unfair misnomer--he wasn’t unemployed, he just didn’t get _paid money_ for that work.  

If he took care of the kids and gave Polly a sense of care, comfort, and love--probably bringing a daily supply of fresh vegetables, he was essentially a homemaker.

Ezekiel’s dark eyes were earnest and sincere, and when they looked at Polly, her face lit up and she seemed less guarded.

They exchanged polite pleasantries, and Ezekiel soon professed his commitment to living a holistic, healthy lifestyle, which was slightly disarming considering they tended to eat what food was available in the Wyrm, healthy or not.  

Jughead could tell that Ezekiel’s overly zen approach to life and constant asides referencing the benefits of kombucha brews was probably helpful for Polly’s current state of Overworked Single Mother of Twins Running a Galaxy Class Company, but he could see why it was driving Chic and Alice just a tiny bit batty.

It was already agitating Betty. Jughead could tell.

He had listened to Betty defending Ezekiel in past conversations, sight unseen, to her brother and mother, telling them that they were judging Polly’s boyfriend unfairly. To finally meet Ezekiel and find out that Chic and Alice weren’t completely off the mark was probably challenging to her sense of open-mindedness.

To distract herself, Betty made sweet faces at June. She gave June a gentle tickle, which the toddler loved, judging by her adorably enthusiastic laughter.

Jughead could feel that ache in his chest again, watching Betty with her niece. She was so impossibly beautiful that he had to look away, or else he’d start throwing half-meant jokes about making babies again, and he did _not_ want to be that dude pressuring his partner for kids.

Instead, he dug into his pocket for the squishy toy he bought for the twins and gave one to Woody, who enthusiastically gripped it in his hands and was captivated, not only by its squishiness, but the lights that flickered in it as he squished.

His round eyes and curious fingers stayed afixed. Jughead had the same toy for June.

The twins became instantly, happily preoccupied. They remained so for the next twenty minutes, sitting between him and Betty as they had the healthiest lunch in the galaxy.

That is, if his lunch didn’t count amidst the spread. His name, apparently, evoked a special customized menu of roasted chicken wrap with a side of burger.

“That is just the most passive-aggressive thing mom has ever pulled,” Polly muttered over her Apple Walnut and Goat Cheese salad as a huge plate of protein rich food was placed in front of Jughead. “She’s doing this to spite us both.”

Betty seemed unbothered by Polly’s theories and began to pick at Jughead’s plate. “Oh, you know mom. Multitasker and all that. She’s probably still smoking weed with Gladys, and I think she and Gladys have an unspoken agreement to gang up on FP.”

Jughead could see the mild confusion on Ezekiel’s face and Polly picked up on it, so she explained who Gladys and FP were, and what their history was in relation to Alice.

Ezekiel nodded sagely, completely unbothered by this.

Jughead eyed Ezekiel, wondering if he had smoked some himself. He supposed Ezekiel _didn’t have to_ care, but it was an incredibly chill reaction.

June burbled and Jughead took a dollop of hummus with a clean spoon and gave some to her, which she appreciated.

Polly cooed. “You are so great with the babies, Jughead!”

Betty eyed him knowingly, but neither of them said anything, even as they exchanged amused looks.

When Polly started to talk about work, she began to get agitated, and then she started to panic at the realization that she was stuck here without email for the next five days.

“Ten _deep breaths,”_ Ezekiel instructed Polly.  

Polly did a bizarre pattern of breathing and letting out a diaphragm-deep yell that surprised Jughead and Betty so much that they both jumped in their seats at the same time.

The twins, who were both sitting happily on both sides of him, seemed unconcerned. This was probably so commonplace that it didn’t surprise them anymore.

“Oh, my God,” Betty muttered under her breath.

“It’s a Laxferian breathing technique,” Ezekiel explained. “Meant to expel the vapors of negative emotions.”

Betty’s drawn out sigh was possibly a direct result of “vapors” being mentioned within her proximity as if it were an actual medical condition.  

Jughead rubbed her knee under the table and she cast him a small smile.

At the end of their meal, Jughead suggested that he and Betty take the twins for a couple of hours to give Polly and Ezekiel some time to enjoy the premises without worrying about June and Woody.  

Polly enthusiastically agreed, all but shoving the mountain of baby implements in their direction--two strollers, two diaper bags, a cooler filled with bottles of pumped breastmilk, and a bag of perfectly portioned baby food.

Not more than five minutes after that, Polly and Ezekiel were gone.

“You see what you’ve done,” Betty said, shaking her head as she plopped June into a pram and started buckling her in.  

“What? I don’t mind babysitting for a couple of hours. You and Chic did it for Polly all the time,” he pointed out, sliding Woody into his stroller.  

Betty laughed as she slung one diaper bag over herself and stuffed the cooler in the undercarriage. “Yes, but back in Anglia, I didn’t have my fiance with me, surrounded by private hot springs.”

He stifled a grin. “Listen, I get that _this--”_ he gestured to his body in an exaggerated manner “--is irresistible, but--”

“Shut,” Betty hissed, grinning. “I suppose we can walk around the property. See what this place is like.”

“That’s the spirit. And while we’re at it, you can tell me how much Ezekiel drives you crazy.”

“He doesn’t--”

“Betty.”

She sighed and snorted. “Was I so obvious?”

“Only to me, beautiful.” He hauled Woody’s diaper bag over his shoulder and put away the baby food. “He seems like a nice guy, if a little too New Agey.”

They began to make their way to the other side of the resort, where there were mountainside walkways and “bridges” to the sky.  

“If he makes Polly happy,” she began. “Then who am I to judge, right?”

“It was the vapors, wasn’t it?” Jughead said, chuckling. “I saw your eye twitch.”

“My eye did _not_ twitch. And that only made me think for a second… or two. I mean, if a guy believes in ‘vapors’, would he also withhold medical attention from June or Woody if they needed it?”

“I highly doubt--”

“You do know that Laxferians consider passing gas loudly as a completely acceptable practice in polite society, right? Like, if I were introducing myself and the person I’m talking to farts in the middle of my introduction, I would think that incredibly annoying and uncomfortable.”

And hilarious. Jughead was folded over laughing as he imagined it.

Betty was at least mildly amused by his twelve-year-old instinct to laugh at anything remotely referencing a fart joke. “You laugh, but if Ezekiel is putting stock in breathing techniques from a culture that considers farting a polite means of greeting, I’m a _little concerned.”_

Now June and Woody were laughing with him.

Jughead was already wiping tears from his eyes. “Okay, let’s think about this for a minute. So Ezekiel’s a little kooky.”

“Shyeah.”

“But Polly’s not going to endanger her children with quack medicine and herbal, homeopathic treatments. You know this.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Is it that he’s unemployed?”

 _“No,”_ she responded, vehemently. “Maybe,” she added, less vehemently. “Wouldn’t that concern you?”

Jughead shrugged in turn. “Maybe. Even if Polly’s making enough money for all of them, there’s something to be said about having an industry of your own, but you know, I shook the guy’s hand, and don’t laugh, but he’s got worker hands. They’re rough, and Polly did say he was good at working the land, so it’s not that he isn’t working, it’s just that doesn’t get _money_ for that work. He lives on the Farm. They’re communal, so he gets clothing, shelter, food. It’s what he does.”

Betty nodded and sighed. “And Polly said he’s great with the kids. I bet Polly’s rooftop garden looks amazing and they get fresh herbs and vegetables at all times…”

“Right. So really, he’s a homemaker. Would we be having this conversation if Polly were a guy and Ezekiel a woman?”

“Jug, how dare you point out my internalized misogyny.”

“Am I sexy or what?”

She nudged her shoulder against his. “Fine. I think I can work through my issues with Ezekiel.”

“I’m sure Polly had stuff to say about me. She’s still working through saying ‘poor’ in my presence without spontaneously combusting.”

“Stop. Okay, yes. I noticed her doing that.”

As they strolled through the property, Jughead was even more impressed by the grounds. Alice was right, they could spend an entire five days here and never see each other. The place was so huge and so full of things to do that they could possibly all be singularly preoccupied.

They made their way to Jellybean’s treehouse where they easily coaxed her and Hotdog out of her pod to spend some time with them and the twins in the resort’s open courtyard.

Jellybean’s relatively quick acceptance of their invitation was atypical of his fairly reclusive sister.

He paused, looking between her and her treehouse. He realized that she hadn’t made the slightest gesture to invite them inside, and that when she stepped out with Hotdog, she had done so with the barest crack of her door.

“You little shit,” Jughead said to her in a hushed tone, lest the twins heard.

“What?”

“You _have WiFi!”_

Jellybean shushed him. “Shut your fucking mouth!”

“Watch your language in front of the kids!”

Jellybean glared at him. “Did you expect me to go five fucking days without logging into my network? Like, do you even know me, douchebag?”

“We all have to deal with it! So should you!”

“I don’t have to deal with shit. Your mother-in-law’s your problem, not mine.”

Jughead scoffed. “I’m gonna tell.”

“What are we, five years old?”

He could see Betty rolling her eyes, but just as he never got between her and Polly, Betty never interfered in the arguments he had with Jellybean.

“If you don’t want me to out you, you gotta do what I say,” Jughead said.

“Are you serious? You’re the older brother. You’re supposed to be an example to me!”

Jughead ignored her. “If I have to yoga, you have to yoga with me.”

“Like _hell.”_

“Don’t test me, Forsythia. And honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Alice schedules other family activities. You’re going to have to be there.”

“Fine! God, you’re a jerk!”

“Language.”

“Fuck you, you fuckity fuck, fucker.”

Jughead had to admit that getting his sister to do what he wanted was strangely satisfying.

Betty shot him a look. “Forsythe Penddleton Jones III.”

“Impressed?”

She said nothing, merely raising her eyebrow.

Polly’s two hours got extended for most of the day, and as the sun set on their balcony and June and Woody napped fitfully between them in bed, Jughead watched Betty snoozing, her arm draped over Woody who was snuggled against her.

Again, there was that ache, but he stamped it out, quickly.  

At this moment, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

****************

Alice and Gladys showed up at yoga class the next day well and truly baked.

They shambled into yoga class together, Alice dressed exactly how a yoga pupil would be dressed and Gladys in something no one would ever figure she would have in her closet.

“Mom,” Jellybean gasped. “Your pink jogging pants says ‘Slushy’ on its ass.”

Gladys shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I had to borrow these from Alice. Like, would I ever have yoga anything in my wardrobe?”

Jughead and FP exchanged exasperated looks. They weren’t exactly happy to be here, but something told Betty that they both wished they had smoked something themselves.

Polly and Ezekiel were already in lotus position on their mats and Chic, who was in his all-white yoga outfit, was sipping a soda by the window, watching the spectacle unfold.

“Oh, don’t mind the haters, Gladys,” Alice tutted. “They’re just jealous we’ve found our zen.”

“Zen is awesome,” Gladys said, unrolling her mat. “Betty, you look _great_. Junior’s going to love staring at that butt.”

“Mom,” Jughead groaned.

Betty tried not to laugh. Too many of them in class were miserable and she didn’t want to flaunt her enjoyment in their faces.

She _did_ go out of her way to look particularly enticing to get Jughead out of bed for this. The twins had stayed with them late enough that they didn’t have any alone time to fool around. When they dropped the twins off at Polly’s and left to have dinner, FP and Chic made them stay afterwards for mocktails and storytelling. By the time they turned in for bed, they were both exhausted and the bed was too soft. They fell right asleep.

Wearing her best yoga outfit, she knew her leggings did great things to her shape, so she didn’t have to work too hard to convince Jughead to attend.

While Jughead didn’t have anything remotely resembling yoga anything, she did manage to dig up his tank and a pair of jogging pants from his ESDC days. FP went with a basic shirt and what looked suspiciously like pants he wore to bed, but they weren’t here for a fashion show.

“Those your pajamas, FP?”

“Gladys.”

Alice looked over her shoulder at him. “Oh, yeah. I think I recognize those.”

Polly’s jaw dropped and Betty swore that if FP and Alice slept together, she was going to lose all manner of chill. Jughead’s face was already sinking into his hands.

Gladys scowled. “Did you sleep with my ex?”

“Honey, please. I’m the OG. Of course I slept with him, but not recently. I saw him wearing them _one time_ when I dropped in on him and JB when they were staying in Parc Acre, that’s all. Why, are you jealous?” Alice grinned.

Chic laughed as Betty stood there, speechless.

FP’s face was beet red. “Alice—“

Gladys smirked and gave Alice a wink. “Why, yes. I thought we had a good time last night, lady.”

“Oh, my God,” Jughead muttered.

Gladys and Alice laughed uproariously.

FP scowled and made a point to spread his mat out in the other side of the room. “Can we possibly get this over with?”

“Why? This is the best time I’ve had since I got sober,” Chic said, sauntering over to the back where the men seemed to have taken space.

The yoga instructor arrived, and Betty had to admit that he kind of looked like a movie star, with his intensely golden brown skin, chiseled jaw, abs like a Greek God, and incredibly ripped arms. His five o’clock shadow made him look daring and his grey eyes were penetrating.

Jellybean looked mildly terrified. “Whoa.”

“Well, things are lookin’ up,” Gladys muttered, her eyes traveling down the instructor’s body.

Alice huffed. “Did you think I would hire someone ugly?”

Betty wished they would stop talking about the guy as if he weren’t there.

“Welcome to Vinyasa yoga,” he said, taking a bow with his hands folded together over his chest. “My name is Deepak and I will be your yogi today. I am so glad to see that we have a full class this morning.”

“I told you I’d make sure, Deepak,” Alice said in a silky tone. “And I keep my promises.”

Betty’s eyes rolled so intensely that she may have strained a muscle in her eye socket.

Deepak flashed Alice a devastating smile. “I can see that! And I’m so happy I can share this with all of you. Let’s start off easy, shall we? Can I get a quick introduction from everyone?”

Deepak went around the room, and one by one he got their names, and when he knew them all, he asked if anyone had yoga experience.

Polly and Ezekiel’s hands shot up in the air. Betty deferred. She hadn’t practiced in over a year.

“Excellent! Would you both be comfortable joining me in the front?”

Polly bounced to her feet and pulled Ezekiel up with her.

Betty thought it was so typical of Polly to act like a complete Know It All.

Deepak positioned Polly and Ezekiel on both sides of him and told everyone to sit on their mats, lotus style.

Betty looked over her shoulder at Jughead, watching him struggle slightly to get his legs crossed the right way before settling.

A minute later, Deepak was leading them through breathing exercises as he wove in an explanation about Vinyasa and its benefits. “We synchronize our movements with our breaths, catching the flow of air through sun salutations. Since most of us are beginners, we will take it slow this first day. For those of you who rely on strength and speed for your daily lives, you may think yoga irrelevant to your fitness.I wish to challenge that notion. I’ve fought in many athletic competitions—obstacle races, fighting octagons, and triathlons—I trained on strength, speed, and endurance, but the extraordinary things I’ve done during these competitions? I credit yoga for them.”

A soft scoff filtered into Betty’s hearing and she honestly couldn’t tell if it was Jughead or Chic.

“Let’s begin,” Deepak said in a soothing tone. “Get on your feet, straighten your back and shoulders, feet together, and let’s bring our arms up, fingers pointing to the sky and lift your chin for a sun pose. Breathe.”

For all the fun everyone was making of yoga, Betty enjoyed it. She liked the breathing and the posing. She liked the physicality of the meditation.

Deepak continued. “Now we dive, folding our bodies, arms out and then in to reach for our toes. Keep your back and shoulders straight. Don’t aim to reach your toes, aim to stretch your back properly.”

Betty was relatively flexible. She had no problem touching her fingers to her toes.

Chic made an annoyed sound. “How the fuck does muscles over there manage to reach his feet?”

“Shut up, Chic. I am focusing,” Jughead grumbled.

“Yeah, on my sister’s ass. Maybe try to actually breathe through the movements.”

Betty pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. She breathed so she can refocus her mind.

“Now walk your hands on the mat and slowly get into a downward facing dog,” instructed Deepak. “Tuck your chin into your chest, keep your butt up and your arms straight and close to your ears. Use your toes to push your body into a perfect triangle… Jughead, focus on yourself, not the person in front of you.”

“Quit checkin’ her out!” Chic hissed at Jughead.

“It is the _only_ thing getting me through this,” Jughead argued back, seriously.

“Hey, Deepak,” Gladys drawled. “Is my butt high enough?”

“For God’s sake,” FP grumbled from across the room.

Alice huffed. “I saw him first.”

“I think he can handle both of us, Alice.”

“You’re probably right.”

Betty could feel the collective indignation of the children coalescing above the captive audience. They didn’t know if Alice and Gladys agreeing was worse than Alice and Gladys not getting along.

Deepak didn’t seem to find this attention extraordinary. He laughed, softly. “Ladies, please. Focus on your breathing. That’s a nice stretch, Betty. Very good.”

Nothing made Betty happier than getting an instructor’s approval.

“He should take his own advice and focus on himself,” Jughead muttered.

Their mothers flirting with the instructor aside, Betty was having way too much fun in this yoga session.

“Now breathe into a Chaturanga, slowly… it’s just like a basic plank—level your body, then push your upper body up into an active Cobra pose, shoulders wide, hips to the floor and arms straight. If you’re so inclined, bring your chin up.”

Betty stretched into Cobra.

“I think I like this pose,” Jughead said. She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Boy, can you reign it in for one minute?” FP growled.

“Yeah, seriously, Jones,” Chic said. “You’re skeeving me out.”

“If I’m going to do this, I’m going to check out my girl.”

Jughead’s constant admiration of her was doing wonders to her chi.

Deepak talked them through another pose, and then another, and Betty did notice that they were going a bit faster. As the poses got more challenging, Jughead grew a little less amicable and more grumbly.

In the midst of a bridge pose, with their hips pushing up above chest level, Deepak came over to adjust her by gently lifting her hips and talking her through her breathing.

Jughead flat out said, “She’s marrying me,” which made FP blow out an exasperated sigh and Jellybean choke on a laugh.

“In case that’s relevant,” Jughead added.

“Oh, my God, Jones,” Chic hissed. “Just because he’s ten times more good looking than you, she isn’t going to just run away with him.”

“Ten? Like, five times, _max_.”

“Uh-uh, brother. Solid ten times. Hell, _I’d_ run away with him, but the only thing I’m allowed to run away with right now is a plant. My recovery counselor tells me I can’t have relationships for a couple of years, at least. Can you believe it? So Deepak would have to wait.”

Betty couldn’t take it anymore. Still in her pose, she said,  “Guys, he’s _right here._ ”

“You, all, are embarrassing,” Polly cried from the front of the room.

“What a surprise, said no one about these two families, ever,” Jellybean added.

“Hey, I’ve been _shit-tanga-ing_ and _fuck-ya-saning_ like a champ, here!” FP cried. “Don’t group me with these assholes.”

“Takes one to know one, don’t it FP?” Gladys shot back.

“Oh, yeah, and don’t forget those witches by the corner over there,” FP sniped back.

Gladys and Alice laughed and high-fived, even in bridge pose.

“You need Brother Edgar in your lives,” Ezekiel mused.

“Like Jesus?” Chic asked.

Jellybean scoffed. “Yeah, I’m pure heathen, so—“

“Okay, everybody!” Deepak finally said in a completely unbothered voice, which Betty thought was an amazing feat given the outrageous circumstances. “Deep breath. Let’s refocus. I love that we can expel these emotions all on our first day. Come on. Breathe.”

Deepak got them back into a rhythm, pushing their balance in their poses, but flexibility was the biggest challenge in the group overall. That got the loudest complaints. And in the end, when Deepak challenged them to the hardest balancing poses, most of them opted out. Polly and Ezekiel were the star pupils, managing the poses with ease and flair.

“Polly’s so good at this, Betty,” Alice said, aside. “She keeps up with her fitness, clearly.”

That was about as subtle to Betty as a blunt force weapon. She shot her mother a glare and was about to say, _You want fitness? I’ll give you fitness._

Jughead whispered in her ear. “If we’re done here, I have a few poses that I want you to be in, like _right now.”_

Betty was done here. Almost frantically, she started to roll up her mat. Then she took Jughead’s hand and proceeded to drag him out of there.

“Betty, where are you going?” Alice demanded, halfway through the door. “We’re not done!”

“Oh, they’re done alright,” she heard Chic reply.

And Betty was happy to leave it at that.

 

*********************

 

As soon as their hotel door slammed shut behind them, they dropped their things and started tearing off each other's clothing, desperately keeping their lips locked and uttering their need for one another amidst the scramble of undressing.

The isolation afforded by their villa was a luxury they seldom had, and even on that first day, the volume of their sex was decidedly born from months of having to keep things down because the Wyrm wasn’t completely soundproof.  It’s what they were used to.

But this morning, having possibly been worked up by the yoga poses, invigorated by proper breathing exercises, and just a predisposition to have a raging desire for one another, it was like they both realized that _nobody_ was going to hear them all the way out in the _Sakadagami_ wing of the resort.

“Betty,” he gasped, pulling her sports bra off her body and over her head. “Did you bring it?”

She nodded, feeling a thrill shoot through her belly. The toys.

They had talked about this in the past few weeks--about getting to play again, and about how he said he felt desire at the idea of having her cuffed to the headboard and blindfolded as he did things to her, but that it also frightened him. He was afraid that it was some sort of sick and twisted power play on his part because of his traumatic lack of control at the mines.

“What if something’s irreparably broken inside me? It’s too risky, Betts.”

That had been his conclusion at their first discussion, and Betty hadn’t pressed him at all. She had told him over and over that she trusted him, that she believed he loved her enough to _know_ what was desire and what was trauma.

“And I highly doubt you wouldn’t stop if I say my safeword, Juggie.”

“But what if you don’t say the safeword and I just keep going, and unbeknownst to you, I’m just acting out a fucked up fantasy in my head?”

It took several discussions, but Betty finally came to him with a proposal. “There’s something I’d like to try. What if you handcuff me and blindfold me, but I tell you what to do?”

She wasn’t sure if that was too strange. It was like messing with the dynamic, but Jughead had paused, and he seemed to be considering it. The next day, Jughead had told her to bring the toys to Peshwa.

Betty packed them neatly into a separate bag without a word. They were sharing suitcases for their things, but she didn’t want him to feel triggered in case he still wasn’t ready for them.

That he was, now deep in desire, asking about the toys, almost made her want to scramble for the things and immediately cuff herself. As satisfying as their sex had been the past few months, she still missed the different flavor their kink added to their bedroom.

Still, she wanted to make sure he was ready for this. She looked at him with desire lidded eyes. “Are you sure?”

He pushed back some of the hair that had fallen over her face. “I’m sure.”

She took out the bag and sat both of them at the edge of their bed. When she opened it, she let him take in the sight of their toys. The cuffs and blindfold sat at the top, but there were other things there, too. There were vibrators, a collar, hanging restraints, a cheerleader costume, candles, cat ears, rope--Betty herself had been surprised with what they’d accumulated in their play.

He tilted a small smile before looking up. “Safeword?”

She didn’t even need to think about it. “Galileo. And you?”

“Helter Skelter.”

It was nice to hear him use his old favorite.

“I want to use the cuffs and blindfold, mistress. May I?” He looked up at her, hopeful and pleading.

She felt the heat flare in her core. He’d started to play. Knew it was all part of the game, but that look he was casting her, the trust and the loyalty, made her emotional and she had to blink furiously to stop the oncoming tide.

She combed her hands through his hair, grabbed tight, and kissing him breathless, tasting him and feeling the shape of him. He gave in completely, sighing and groaning at the riptide of desire.

They were both panting for breath when she told him to put the cuffs and blindfold on her.

He grabbed the things, gently asking her to lie down and stretch her arms over her head.

When she did, he stared at her for a moment, and she could see that the blues were completely gone from his eyes.

She grabbed the railings overhead and arched her back a little to give him a show. She could feel a warm breeze hitting her nipples and she couldn’t wait to have him worshipping them.  “Do you like seeing me this way?” she asked.

He swallowed and nodded.

“It’s all yours, cowboy.”

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, slowly leaning over her as his eyes took in her breasts and trailing down her body to the lacy panties still covering her.

He put on the cuffs, securing her to the railing, and for a moment, she thought he had changed his mind about the blindfold.

They were still playing, so she wanted to encourage him. “Do I have to beg for the blindfold?”

“Can I--” he faltered slightly. She could see it in his eyes. That brief moment of uncertainty.

She didn’t want to force him. She wanted to be careful, so the usual power plays of their games in the past probably wouldn’t help him this time.  “Ask me, baby. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

The relief in his eyes was heartbreaking. “Can I kiss you, first?”

“You may. I want you to.” Permission. Then dominance. It was gentle, but she wanted to give him this experience fully, making sure it didn’t feel half-assed for him, where he ends up unsure whether they really played.

He leaned over, prince over Sleeping Beauty style, and pressed a kiss to her lips. He held it a moment before his tongue pushed her lips apart. She tilted her chin up to taste more of him, and for a minute it was all they did.

When he pulled away, he asked if he could put on the blindfold, and when she nodded, he slipped the blindfold on her.

She found this bit of sensory deprivation comforting. Was thrilled at the prospect of feeling and hearing him, where the only vision she would have of him would be in her mind.

“Tell me what to do next,” he begged.

“I saw you looking at my breasts. You can kiss them. Suck them. Worship them the way you want to.”

His answering groan made her pussy ache, but when he fell upon her, the touch of his lips and the licking of his tongue stoked a blaze in her body. She writhed under his kisses, moaned praises when he gently took her nipples in his mouth, cried out encouragement when his fingers kneaded and tweaked.

She felt his palms wrap around the sides of her ribs as he licked between the valley of her breasts, and when he cupped them in his hands and sucked gently on the mounds, she whispered how he was being so good to her.

“Anything for you,” he whispered back, his lips trailing down to her belly button. “What do you want me to do next?”

She sighed, loving that he was getting back into it and knowing that as he worked his way back to confidence, she was going to help him along just like this.

“I want to come, but I want you to kiss me while you do it,” she breathed.

“I don’t want it to be over,” he said, his tone taking on a less submissive lilt. “I fuck you now it’ll be over _real_ fast.”

She hummed, smirking. “What are you going to do?”

He sank his hands into her hair and tilted her head back, kissing her hungrily while she felt his finger trailed down her body.

She moaned in anticipation and canted her hips. She wanted what he wanted, and when his touch stroked her, she cried out, gasping against his lips. And when his fingers circled that sensitive bundle of nerves, she was so quickly incoherent that she wished she had the will to prolong the pleasure.

She was gasping for him not to stop, so when he did, she practically fell to sobbing.

The ripples through her body waned at the loss of his touch, fading at the first hint of cool air that hit parts of her that had been warmed by his touch.

She was _so close. “_ Juggie, _please—“_

He shushed her, gently. “This is for you.”

His warmth left her and she couldn’t process the separation. Though she heard him, she had no clue as to what he was doing.

He slipped her panties off, first, and she let him, then she heard a click, followed by a low hum, and when she felt the frantic vibrations against her hips, she moaned _yes._

Again, his kiss fell on her, just like she asked him to, and when the frantic quiver of the toy touched the inside of her thighs, she opened herself up wider, wanting that friction, but she felt the frequency change, and the mad vibrations became waves of oscillations. When the toy touched her center, those oscillations sent pleasurable waves through her body that had her mewling into his mouth.

He had total control. Like the switch he turned on the vibrator was connected to her body, and he knew when to turn it up.

When she gasped his name pleadingly, he turned up the vibrations and inserted his fingers into her.

She cried out and shattered at his touch, coming apart as waves of pleasure came at her. Attuned to her, he listened to her moans, sliding the frequency to high as she crasted, then slowly lowered it as her cries began to wane, and as she settled, he asked her, with the slightest hint of smugness, if he pleased her.

“I am so, so pleased,” she gasped, catching her breath.

The hot flush of her body was seeping through her pores and a film of sweat had broken through her skin. His finger made gentle circles on her chest, trailing between her breasts.

“I love it when you sweat,” he said, his tone rougher.

The confidence in his voice speared desire through her. She licked her lips, the ache to please him was so strong. “Do you want to put your cock in my mouth?”

She heard him sigh and she felt his palm cupping her face. “Not with your hands tied, baby. Not yet.”

 _Not quite ready for that,_ she thought. Even if she wanted to beg for it, she kept her words to herself. She wanted to ease him back to this, not force him into anything he wasn’t comfortable with.

She felt his breath on her belly button, his tongue licking the salt of her sweat. She squirmed, feeling impatient.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

She felt the weight of his body on the bed, and she shifted her thighs to accommodate him. She nodded. “More than okay.”

His hands on her hips spread warmth through her body, and when his shoulders nudged her thighs, she sighed, happily.

“You’re so sweet, Juggie,” she cooed.

And when his tongue dragged along her pussy, she lost all coherent thought. The velvety strokes of his tongue was an entirely different level of exquisite. The heat that radiated from his body spread through her, but the curves of him against her thighs, and the pulsating movement of his tongue against her clit—her pleasure was alive, brought from skillful strumming, not a machine, and that connection was real. He devoured her pleasure, and his own groan, followed by his praises of the taste of her, made her want more.

He pushed her thighs up further against her body, and his mouth on her center was causing shocks of sensation. She was close to the edge, so when he dipped his fingers into her and sucked her clit, she was gone, tumbling into the abyss.

Light danced behind her blindfold. She probably screamed his name. And when she began to slide down from her high, her ears were ringing from the pleasurable pressure.

She was only just gathering her breath when she felt a hardness rubbing through her folds.

“Baby, I need you,” he rasped, the rough tone on his voice made her cunt tighten with desire. “May I?”

“Fuck me,” she gasped. “Do it now.”

His hands wrapped around her waist and he entered her.

She felt filled, and his grip moved her to a rhythm as his thrusts met her body.

“God, I can’t watch you. I’m going to come,” he cried, almost in despair.

“Oh, baby, yes!”

“Not yet.” With one hand still on her waist, she felt his other hand work her clit.

It was like a switch. The waves of sensation crashed against her at each pound of his body, and she came for him, loudly, crying out his name over and over.

As the force of the ecstacy waned and she caught her breath, she realize that he had paused.

Her cuffs were loosening, and as she became untethered to the headboard, she felt him hauling her to her knees.

He cuffed her wrists back together, but he slung her arms over his shoulders as he settled her into straddling him. His vigorous thrusts within her resumed, and she felt her clit crashing against his body.

This position always made her orgasm quickly, and she came two more times, telling him how good he was at this.

When he whipped off her blindfold, she took in the sight of his darkened eyes, the sweat on his brow, and the defeated expression on his face.

“Helter Skelter,” he gasped.

“Baby,” she whispered, pulling him in for a kiss with the chains of the cuff against the back of his head. “I love you.”

He groaned as their tongues tangled.

He hadn’t stopped thrusting, and she gasped as her hips rode him to match his pace.

“Look at me,” he pleaded.

She did, staring into his eyes as his hips finally stuttered and his groan rang long and low. His hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as he pushed hard into her, once, twice, before the tension in his shoulder slowly began wane.

When it was over, he lowered her onto the bed and sluggishly removed her cuffs.

She could feel him crashing, and gently, she whispered that she was going to take care of him.

She pulled the covers onto him, combing her fingers through his hair as he nuzzled his face against her breasts.

Her body felt electrified, but she was satisfied beyond belief. This odd reversal of dominance worked out amazingly well.

When his breathing had evened out and his eyes had closed, she coaxed him to let her off the bed. He complained slightly, but she slipped out of the sheets, going to the gift basket that the resort left for them and grabbed a couple of small apples, some grapes, a lot of cubed cheese, a jar of honey, and a bottled water from the refrigerator.

She set the cheese and apple on a plate and slipped back into the sheets.

“Let’s have some of this food, Jug,” she said, gently rubbing his shoulder.

He looked up from his pillow, his hair a beautiful mess on his head, and smiled sleepily, like he was just waking from a three-day sleep.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, and as he did, she cuddled against his side and put the plate atop the flat plains of his stomach.

He chuckled as he watched her uncap the honey, dip the cheese in it, and feed it to him. He took the sweetened cube in his mouth, sucking the tip of her finger between his lips, and grinned as he chewed.

She giggled, and for a while that was all they did, her feeding him, and him occasionally popping a cube of cheese into her mouth, too. They shared the fruits, even as she insisted that he eat more of it.

And when all the food was gone and water bottle drained, she suggested that they take a dip in their hot pool out in the veranda.

As they slipped into the steaming waters of _Xīnshēng,_ she felt mildly accomplished, and when he maneuvered her to straddle him in the pool, she grinned at him as she settled.

“Are you hoping for a round two?”

His soft chuckle was followed by the gentle ripple of flowing water over her shoulder, where he trailed rivulets along her skin. “Always, but I’ll need more time. I just like it when you’re this close. It feels like home.”

She cupped his face and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“That was nice, baby,” he whispered after they separated.

She had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the kiss.

“I missed playing like that,” he continued, softly. “But I was so afraid.”

She smoothed his hair off his brow. “And now?”

“I’m not as scared, but we still have to talk about the… _boundaries_ for a while. Not like before when we just knew—“

She hushed him. “You don’t have to justify talking about it, Jug. Talking is good. Consent is sexy, remember? We agree to everything or we don’t do any of it.”

He nodded, the gratefulness in his eyes heartbreaking. “I needed this, Betty. Thank you.”

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. I love you. I love making you happy.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” she said in his ear, wrapping herself tighter around him.

They fell quite for a few minutes, engulfed in one another, blessedly warm and comfortable.

“You know,” he finally said, a hint of humor in his voice. “I think I kind of like yoga, even with Whats His Face leading it.”

She laughed, softly. “Oh, do you, now? Your jealousy _does_ make me horny.”

He scoffed. “Me? Jealous? Please. He’s only _five times_ more good looking than me.”

A giggle escaped her, but she shook her head. “ _You_ are twenty times more good looking in my eyes, baby. Like, he doesn’t even compare.”

A smug smile tilted his lips as he stared up at her with loving eyes. “Yeah?”

She wasn’t even lying in the slightest. No one could make her heart beat and her stomach flutter madly like Jughead Jones. “Yeah. You’re a stud. My cowboy. My heartthrob.”

He kissed her, canting his hips against her, and she felt his cock twitch to hardness. “And just like that,” he whispered. “I’m ready for round two.”

 

**************

The forests surrounding _Xīnshēng_ were rich with colorful exotic trees, abundant wildlife, and hiking trails perfect for beginners and experienced hikers alike. There were natural springs for wading and surprising bushels of wild flowers. There were clearings in the forest, too, where the trees fell back and opened up to the sky.  

The hike was safe in the beginners’ trail, which allowed Polly and Ezekiel to carry June and Woody in their hi-tech baby bjorns. The rest of the family were somewhat forced to hike the trail as well, because when Alice saw that yoga wasn’t working out, she arranged for other activities. _This_ was one of it, and while the hike was safe, resort regulation required hiking parties to have a guide.

What’s His Face was their hiking guide.

 _Of course he is,_ Jughead thought.

Gladys was certainly all for it.

As different as she and Alice were, they did, after all, have the same taste in men, a fact that Jughead kindly asked Chic to never repeat again.  

FP was just grateful that they had found a preoccupation. “The more time they oggle his ass, the less time those two will have to cook up ways to torment me.”

“Mom’s a skilled multitasker,” Chic pointed out. “If she really wanted to, she’ll make your life a living hell, whether or not a handsome, young yoga instructor is there to sweeten her mood.”

“Can we hurry this up?” Jellybean grumbled. “I’d like to get back to my programming.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow and Jellybean glared at him. She was keeping her promise of joining the family activities so he had no reason to out her, but he supposed Jellybean could read the meaning behind his pointed stare.

“Aw, JB, it’ll be fun, I promise,” Betty said, whom Jughead knew was an enthusiastic hiker and rock climber back when she was based on Earth.  

“What’s the matter, JB? Deepak over there not doing it for you?” Chic asked.

Jellybean made a face. “He’s objectively good looking, but I’d really rather stay in my treehouse.”

Chic gave her a thoughtful look. “Objectively? Not a fan of boys?”

Jellybean tossed Hotdog a doggie treat. “Nope.”

“Girls, then.”

She shook her head. “They’re alright, but, no. They don’t do it for me, either.”

Chick seemed surprised. “No? Like, is it just that you haven’t found the right--”

“Sex isn’t top of mind, okay?”

“Sex isn’t-- _wow,_ you mean, like, you’ve _never--”_

 _“Hey,”_ Jughead intervened. “She doesn’t have to explain herself.”

Jellybean scoffed. “People are asexual, Steven.”

“Fascinating. So none of your decisions in life are driven by your libido?”

“Are yours? I may be asexual, but I think we can all objectively agree that basing your decisions on sex is probably a bad idea.”

Jughead thought on all the times he made plans around having sexy times with Betty and perhaps half-assed a thing or two just so he could get with her sooner than expected.

“Okay, you’re probably right,” Chic replied. “But I freebased cocaine, so what do I know?”

Betty frowned. “Chic.”

“Is everybody ready to go?” Polly asked, having taken the initiative to be the instructor’s pet. “Deepak said we should head out if we want to make it back before sundown.  FP, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to get rid of that tobacco.”

FP scowled. “What?”

“The dangers of forest fires are real,” Polly replied in a singsong voice.

Gladys cackled.

FP shot Jughead a glare. “Boy, I only do this because of you.”

 _What’d I do?_ Jughead thought, sourly.

“Alright, it’s just a few hours. We can do without certain things for a few hours, right?” Betty pointed out, hugging Jughead’s arm to appease him.

“Fine,” FP grumbled, putting his tobacco away.

They headed out, trailing into the woods.

 

********************

 

Halfway through the hike, the twins were inconsolable in spite of Polly and Ezekiel’s frantic need to calm them down, Alice, Gladys, and FP were yelling at each other, and Jughead and Betty were miserably watching this and hoping that their non-interference would calm things down.

Deepak watched on, slightly bewildered, though he didn’t appear to be surprised. He looked quite calm, but he did look like he was trying to figure out how to get them moving again.

The only ones who were probably enjoying themselves were Jellybean, who had completely detached, Hotdog, who barked and ran around chasing bugs, and Chic who was marveling at the fact that his sobriety made him comprehend _exactly_ what was going on.

That they were in the middle of a trail, a couple or so miles from the promised cool water springs of _Chángshòu zhī chūn_ , or the Spring of Longevity, but that fact gave them no comfort. They may as well have been 100 miles away, at the rate they were going.

Everyone was tired, hungry, and wrought with nerves.

“You all are impossible!” Alice cried above the din of crying toddlers and yelling adults. “We are in the middle of paradise and you two, bickering like you were still married, is just plain selfish. _Selfish.”_ She waved her finger between FP and Gladys.

“You act as if we cooked up this whole plan of being cooped up in one place!” FP yelled right back. “There’s a reason Gladys and I put a galaxy between us on a regular basis!”

“And you promised me we would be baked this entire time,” Gladys said. “You didn’t tell us we would go on an all-day hike with no access to weed. High is the _only_ way I can stand you all.”

FP threw his arm out. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what you’re good at--detaching, this time by proxy, because you couldn’t just actually up and leave this time.”

Gladys’s eyes glinted with fire. “Oh, look who’s talking! Father of the year! How are those beer colored glasses working for you?”

“All I needed was for all of you to act like adults for _five fucking days,”_ Alice hissed. “I should’ve known that would be too difficult.”

This went on for several more minutes and Betty wondered how they thought they could get through the day without a blowout like this if Alice and Gladys weren’t smoking weed.

“We’re going ahead. I can’t deal with this,” Betty said, rising to her feet.  She began to lead the way and Jughead followed right after her.

“Deepak, tell me where this Spring of Longevity is and the rest of us will go on ahead. You can stay here and--” She waved her hand in the direction of Alice, Gladys, and FP. “--deal with this situation.”

Deepak frowned. “I cannot let you go off on your own. You can get hopelessly lost in this forest for days on end with no food or water, and as a certified trail master, I cannot allow you to go off on your own. If I lose my guests, losing my job would be the least of my worries. I simply cannot go down in history as the guy who lost the Cooper and the Jones family at the same time.”

Betty was sure he was a nice guy, but her feelings were fraught from the fighting and she felt a slight hostility creeping through the heat of her ears. “Listen, Deepak, you’re cute, but you’re not _that_ cute. I have traversed the most hostile planets in the farthest quadrants of space, infiltrated slave camps, crossed featureless alien landscapes and cut through inhospitable forests and terrains. And truth be told, I would rather get lost in this forest than spend another second listening to this bickering, now give me the goddamn directions to the Spring of Longevity or I will end you.”

Deepak frowned. “You are low on blood sugar. Let me get you a smoothie.”

She may have taken a step forward because Jughead put his hands on her shoulders and gripped ever so gently.

“Alright, we’re all feeling a _little_ frustrated,” Jughead said in a soothing tone. “Deepak, if you’re not going to let us go off on our own, you need to do something about those wiseguys.”

Alice was flailing and Gladys was waving a finger between them.  

Deepak sighed and actually did fish a tumbler out of his pack to give to Betty. “It’s strawberry.”

Betty glared at him but grabbed it.  Maybe she was a tad hungry.

Deepak nodded in the direction of the parents. “Maybe they need something to eat, too.”

“That’s not hunger. That’s three sober adults facing their unpleasant pasts,” Betty grumbled, taking a gulp of the smoothie. It was delicious.

Jughead was clearly stifling a grin. “Listen, Deepak, the solution is simple. Let our mothers smoke their weed and all this will go away. Perhaps even let my pops smoke his tobacco.”

Deepak scowled. “I think burning down the forest is just as bad as losing you all, if not worse.”

“It’s that, or Betty and I walk--we’ll take the others with us.”

Deepak rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Fine. Let me walk ahead with Polly and the kids. _You_ watch over your parents while they smoke. I can’t have them throwing lit stubs, got that?  This is important.”

“We got them,” Betty said, eager to get going.  “Chic, go walk ahead with Polly and help her with the kids.”

They reorganized, with Deepak taking the lead and Betty and Jughead madly rolling up contraband to give to their mothers. Betty felt a little like a governess telling the kids to shut up or they won’t get their candy.  

Betty walked with Gladys while Jughead walked with Alice. Jellybean and Hotdog accompanied her father slightly ahead of them, just so he doesn’t get too much of the marijuana smoke.

“I swear,” Gladys grumbled, taking a deep inhalation of her weed. “If he’d let us smoke in the first place, all this could’ve been avoided.”

Betty looked over her shoulder, noting that Jughead and Alice were just far enough behind to have their own conversation. “Are we so bad, Gladys, that you can’t stand us sober?”

Gladys shot her a pointed look. “You know this is difficult for me, Betty, and not just because I’m the bad guy in the family. FP and I have baggage and your mom and I--well, we’re kind of a ticking time bomb. I always talked shit behind her back and God only knows what she said about _me.”_

“First of all, Gladys, you’re not the bad guy. Or at least not anymore. I know for a fact that Jughead knows you’re trying and that he appreciates it. He’d had to let go of his resentment of you long ago to move on and become the man he is now, so don’t think he’s carrying that extra baggage around. Whatever you’re trying to build with him now, he wants it to work, too. I’m happy that you’re here. I’m happy that you’re here for _him._ You don’t know how much I appreciate that, too.”

Gladys snorted, inhaling her Kush. “You’re a sweet kid, you know. And Jughead wears his heart on his sleeve. So I’m probably going to hurt him again. Somewhere down the line I will do something and he’ll hate me. You’ll hate me, but I can’t change who I am. Some moms, they’re naturals at this sort of thing. I’m shit at it. I get things done, I know where I need to be and what I have to do. I protect my own because I have to show strength against those who want to take me down--so I will protect Junior and JB. I will protect you and your children because you’re family now, but I route it mostly through ruthlessness.  What love is there I keep it hidden because a part of me still considers love a weakness.”

Betty watched Gladys’s face. It had always been a hard face, with the star tattoo in the corner of her eye and the steely, resting bitch face, but she always wondered what Gladys had done that she was so ashamed to tell her son. She knew, even without Gladys telling her, that what had been said was a glimpse of that secret life she once had.  

“We’ll take it, Gladys,” she said, softly. “We’ll take that fierce protectiveness over you looking at us from a distance.  And you know, you and my mother aren’t that much different. She’s impossible sometimes, but she is so fiercely protective, too. She refuses to seem soft. She considers that showing weakness, too.  I guess you two just come in different packaging.”

Gladys laughed and shook her head. Betty wasn’t sure if it was the weed taking effect or if she actually thought what Betty said amusing, but this Gladys was the one she was most used to.

“If you’d like to spend some time with Jughead, I really don’t mind. I should really be spending more time with my niece and nephew, anyway. Probably have to get to know Ezekiel more if he’s going to stick around for Polly.”

Gladys offered her a smoke and Betty shook her head, raising her smoothie to indicate that she was good. Neither of them said anything for a while and Betty didn’t mind the silence at all.  

By the time they reached the Spring of Longevity, their heads were cooler, and the spring looked so beautiful that everyone was eager for a swim.  Deepak laid out the lunch blanket in a clearing and Betty, feeling contrite for being snippy with him, helped him set up.

“Sorry I was nasty, Deepak. It’s not your fault our parents were being impossible,” she said, laying out the packed sandwiches and drinks.  

Deepak seemed unbothered. “It happens all the time. People get tired of hiking and they break down at some point. If I had known Gladys, Alice, and FP had history, I would’ve kept them separated from the beginning. But it’s all good now. People seem to be enjoying themselves.”

Betty looked over her shoulder.  Chic and Jughead were launching themselves off a raised platform and even Alice and Gladys had lowered themselves into the water, sitting affably side by side. The weed was working.  FP was bobbing June in the water in her floaties while Polly and Ezekiel entertained Woody in his.

Even Jellybean, who was practically wearing a full-body swimsuit, arms and thighs wrapped in her lycra suit, had her feet in the water as she basked under the sun.

Hotdog was already in the water, happily barking as the spring cooled him.

Jughead waved and encouraged her to come over. She smiled and waved back.

“Looks like we’re all set here,” she said. “Are you joining us in the water?”

Deepak nodded. “Of course. Did you like that smoothie I gave you?”

Betty nodded. “It was good. I needed it.”

“It’s very healthy. I’ll send you the recipe.”

She cast him a grateful smile and made her way to Jellybean, sitting beside her along the edge of the spring. Soon enough, Jughead came over to drag her into the water completely.

She thought, perhaps, that this was actually worth the drama of getting here.

******************

 

The following day, Alice had arranged for white water rafting, and this time, the Coopers and Joneses had to split into two rafts.  Deepak rowed for the Joneses and a new instructor, Ludmilla, took over for the Cooper raft.

Alice was not pleased that someone more formidable than her was taking control.

Ludmilla spoke with a heavy Russian accent and had no fear of Alice Cooper. Ludmilla screamed _“Row, row, row!”_ like a drill sergeant and when Alice told her that her life vest was chafing, Ludmilla’s only response was, “Oh, please,” with a roll of her eyes.

By the time they reached their first stopover in the day-long trip, Betty’s arms felt like jello and she was already beyond exhausted.  

“She’s super competitive,” Betty whispered to Jughead, lest Ludmilla heard her. “And Polly and Ezekiel’s buying right into it, so we’re all getting sucked into this super perfect rowing machine and I just don’t know if I can bear it for the rest of the day.”

Jughead chuckled. “So defect. Switch to our raft.”

“I don’t know if I dare,” she replied, catching Ludmilla glaring at her.  “Let’s just get through this day.”

And they did, with Betty’s sore arms and generally tested patience from her sister’s manic sweetness, Alice’s outraged sense of lost control, Ezekiel’s constant unsolicited advice on health and wellness, and Chic egging everyone on to act worse.

Jughead fared better, it seemed, with Gladys’s sharp jibes tempered to less fraught digs and FP better at taking things in stride.  

He was kind enough to give Betty a soothing massage and a blissfully happy ending.

****************

On their fifth day, the positive energy was palpable.

It was hard to determine whether it was their collective relief at _finally_ getting to day 5 with their sanity still intact, or whether by some spiritual phenomenon, _Xīnshēng_ had actually cleansed their emotions of toxins.  

All Jughead knew was that everybody seemed happier this morning, and they were all sitting at breakfast without being bribed to be there. Even FP hadn’t complained that the breakfast sausage was turkey meat.

For their last day, they took advantage of the spa treatments, which included massages, facials, aroma therapies, teas, and juice cleansers.

It was near sundown by the time they headed back to their ships, marking the end of their retreat.  

As Betty stood at the gangplank of the Whyte Wyrm, slightly amazed that they were all well and in good standing, finding things in common, more than tolerating each other’s company, saying “Look forward to seeing you at the wedding!” she reluctantly had to admit that her mother’s plan hadn’t gone completely off the rails.

They weren’t about to sing songs around the fire, but all seemed to have gained a better understanding of the things they would endure for the people they loved, and that compared to other things, getting along with the in laws wasn’t so bad.

As they took off in the Wyrm, Betty feeling a serene sense of completion, she felt ready.

It was a week’s worth of travel between Peshwa and the City of a Thousand Veils.

Between getting there and the wedding itself, there were still final wedding arrangements, the rehearsal dinner, the bachelor and bachelorette parties, and all the drama that comes with it.

But Betty wasn’t fussed. Not in the least.

She looked at Jughead as he maneuvered the Whyte Wyrm into space, and when he caught her staring, he flashed her a loving smile.

She felt renewed.

In a couple of weeks, she would be married to this amazing man and that, after everything, was all that really mattered.

 


	4. The Cosmos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while and I apologize, but I've had a very stressful month, brought it part by work, in part by family. There was a lot to get through, but I think it's finally settling down. And I know because I actually did like my writing enough to finish this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you like it.

A week before the wedding, Jughead and Betty met all of their guests at Thelonius, the last inhabitable planet leading up to the wormhole that would take them from commercial civilization to the Realms of Solitude.

The planet of Bal Athuria, where Betty and Jughead’s wedding would be held, was a safe haven for not only monks and nuns, but theologians of many faiths and scholars of various meditative disciplines. It was surrounded by half a dozen planets whose residents had at some point aspired to exist in Bal Athuria but realized they just liked being away from people, without the bother of scripture, self-denial, and a rigid discipline.

The Realms of Solitude were home to perhaps some of the most epic hermits of the galaxy, many of which coexist with the spiritualists—when they felt like it.

That Bal Athuria hosted weddings, mostly for travelers in the 4th Quadrant, was a little known fact, which was just as Betty and Jughead liked it. It was far enough that only their dearest would venture to attend, and the spiritual colony was eager to host a marriage because they considered it part of the cycle of life. They needed weddings to affirm their own sense of spirituality, so it was a joyous occasion for everyone.

Betty and Jughead had seen a wedding hosted at Bal Athuria and they both thought it beautiful—earthy and unpretentious. Just a bunch of monks, intellectuals, and nuns excited to have a party celebrating love.

The “official” wedding coordinator on site was a theologian who’d spent many years venturing across the galaxy studying cultures and faiths. She was learned, wise, and as many have said—and Betty believed, had a knack for ritual design and organization.

Aalimah Farooki was one of the smartest people Betty had ever met, and coming from her, that was saying something.

Aalimah loved arranging weddings in her free time, sourcing flowers from the Abbess of Theresa 50 kilometers away and calling in Chef Mehta in the nearby planet of Ling, retired from his career but at his happiest when cooking, to plan menus.

She commissioned lifelong musicians and craft makers, arranged for the preferred officiant and offered facilities for the days leading up to the wedding.

She had amassed years of experience under her belt and she wasn’t fazed by “zillas” of any kind. “Groom, bride, in laws—they are all the same underneath the stress and rage. They want the day to go without a hitch, but they all forget that this is the easy part. The hard part is staying married.”

Betty appreciated her immensely for that.

Betty and Jughead hadn’t met her in person, but they’d talked extensively over the comm. They trusted her and had no reason to doubt that no matter what happened, they would get through the day with their sanity intact.

But before the wedding were the rituals.

Thelonius skirted the edge of the 2nd and 3rd Quadrant, so it was a little off the center of the 2nd, where dining and entertainment could be accessed, but Betty and Jughead’s guests were all in, willing to make Thelonius their base and the jumping off point for the trip to Bal Athuria.   

First order of business, however, were the Bachelor and Bachelorette parties.

 

*********************

 

“Why are we conforming to outdated, frivolous pre-wedding rituals again?” Jughead asked as he shrugged on the same suit he wore to Alice’s In Laws dinner for his much-hyped bachelor’s party.

Betty stifled a laugh and went to him, smoothing down his jacket and then running her fingers lightly through his hair. “Because your friends asked and you want to make them happy.”

His soft snort lacked conviction, because what she said was true. What she didn’t say, but they both knew, was that this bachelor party was the least he could do for his friends who risked their necks to rescue him from Kestra Prime. If they wanted a night to let loose, then he would do that for them.  

The big surprise, of course, was how Malachi ended up becoming the primary planner for this occasion. Joaquin was happy to oblige, but it turned out that on pure logistics, Malachi managed to wrestle himself into the role because Sweet Pea and Fangs were complete dicks about assisting Joaquin. Jughead was half certain that Malachi was going to get them in a shitload of trouble.  Not to mention the fact that a couple of Betty’s friends were along for the ride--Reggie and Kevin.

He was never a social butterfly, but getting along with people he barely knew _and_ Malachi made him tired before even leaving the ship.

Then again, if Alice, Gladys, and FP could put aside their differences for the wedding and all family gatherings to come, he could spend a few hours with these bozos. Possibly inebriated.

“Is Chic even going to be there the entire night? Didn’t he say something about leaving once the drinking started?” His heavy sigh was punctuated by her giggle.

He could hardly believe that he was expressing some kind of attachment to Chic. Not that he ever had a contentious relationship with the man—he had always gotten along with Chic fairly well, but before their retreat, Jughead wasn’t sure that the rich dude addicted to cocaine would ever get along with and be relatable to a cowboy like him, whose trailer park history was about having enough to buy instant-made mac and cheese.

It turned out that Chic was just acerbic and funny enough for the both of them to actually like each other’s company and, probably, hate on the same things, but more importantly, Jughead had found that with Chic, he didn’t have to _pretend_ being anything other than himself, because all that really mattered to Chic, aside from his sobriety, was his sister’s happiness, and since Jughead seemed to have a knack for knowing what made Betty happy, Chic liked him just fine the way he was.

So here was Jughead, wishing Chic could be there to help him get through the frivolities.

“I think he assured me that he’d be fine,” Betty said in a placating tone. “He agreed to check in with his sponsor every two hours, even more in between if he needs to. Also, Kevin’s taken point on his sobriety.”

He really should stop acting like a baby.  

He quirked a smile and slipped his arms around her waist. “I’m feeling needy, I guess. After this, it’s the rehearsal dinner that has no actual rehearsing, and then I won’t see you again until you walk down that aisle.”

She stared right back at him and her fingers were twining gently with his hair. Her smile was one of amusement and affection. “It’s just a few days. We’ve been separated for longer.”

“It doesn’t matter how long. I never like being separated from you.”

She pulled herself closer and they swayed lightly to imaginary music. “I’d rather stay with you, too.”

He kissed her, lingering and sweet, his arms wrapping more firmly around her. “We should ditch them all and just see them at Bal Athuria,” he muttered against her lips.

He could feel her smiling. “Veronica will never forgive me.”

He sighed and looked at her, eyebrow quirked. “You’re gonna have strippers, aren’t you?”

Betty laughed. “Juggie, I honestly don’t know. And don’t pretend your boys are angels. _You’ll_ probably have strippers!”

He scoffed. Honestly, he didn’t care. Strange women removing their clothing never factored in his fantasies. Betty dancing for him on a pole, however—that was the dream.

The mirth drained slowly from his face. “I’m going to miss you. You know me, Betts.”

She nodded. He burned for her. He loved her body, soul, and mind, and his attraction for her the first time he ever laid eyes on her had been instant in every way, but all that love and desire had never been so freely given. Unless it was Betty, he kept that sexual and emotional energy jealousy and obsessively guarded.

He hadn’t thought about it much before, but his journaling had made self examination a real exercise. Words to paper gave him clarity. He hadn’t had a string of relationships before Betty. His sexual history hadn’t been about quantity. His libido, if any, had been entirely tied to things other than physical. So he didn’t get entertained by strippers, he never liked the attentions of beautiful women at nightclubs, and he certainly wasn’t the cowboy who slept with women at every new planet.

He could count the number of women he’d been with in one hand, starting from high school to his days bounty hunting: the violinist at tenth grade, the brilliant professor at flight academy, the deeply passionate sculptor he met in the streets of Artheca, and the GBI agent whose aspirations of becoming a ballerina were shattered with a devastating foot injury. They were all extraordinary in their own ways, but his relationships with them had been brief, maybe even moments in time, and they hadn’t lasted because he never wanted to get so close. He could say with certainty that they had all made a deep impression in his life, but love had been elusive until Betty came along.

Betty Cooper, the genius rocket scientist, seeking to eradicate poverty by taking to the stars in an old klunker and slinging a gun while she was at it, had owned him the moment she set foot on the Wyrm. And when their fiercely competitive banter graduated to a physical relationship, he found himself falling hard and fast. He didn’t know it at the time, those early days where he told himself that they were both of them just having fun and enjoying the sex--he should’ve known he was lying to himself, but Archie dropped the bomb on them both and he knew it wasn’t just sex--that he wanted more.

When she came to him and told him she felt the same, that was _it_ for him. He was gone. He was hers, and from that point on, he could not imagine spending the rest of his life with anyone else.

Betty’s eyes shone with compassion. “Just try to have fun with your friends, babe. Don’t you want a last hurrah?”

She was joking, he knew, but he never passed up the chance to tell her he loved her. “The only thing I’m giving up with this marriage is my room on the ship. It’s slightly smaller than yours, so I’m moving in with you.”

He could see the lines around her mouth where she was trying to contain her smirk.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me,” he finished, softly.

She sighed and gave him that look of complete adoration. “God. I’m so lucky.”

Did he really have to go to this thing? He would be perfectly happy to stay with her all night. He lifted her by the waist, kissing her as he went. He was formulating a plan of escape--get her in the Chopper and jet off until all their friends went away--

“Ha! There you are!”

It was Malachi’s voice and Jughead knew any thoughts of escape were futile.

Betty giggled into their kiss. “Just go.”

Jughead settled her back on her feet just before Sweet Pea, Joaquin, Harvey, and Fangs, who had materialized from behind Malachi, accosted him and started pulling him away.

 _“Help,”_ Jughead moaned dramatically.

Malachi clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you sloppy drunk so I can take incriminating pictures of you and send them to Betty.”

“Malachi,” Betty said in a warning tone. “If anything happens to Jughead, I will personally stab you in the heart.”

“Ooh, Blondie,” Malachi gasped. “Knife play is my _kink!”_

Jughead dealt him a glare and decided a warning was fair, so he said, “I’m going to punch you in the mouth.”

And he would’ve, if Sweet Pea hadn’t half-nelsoned him and Betty hadn’t yelled over everyone to settle down.

Chic, who had walked through the door with Reggie Mantle and Kevin Keller, watched this exchange with amusement. “Jesus Christ, is this how you cowboys get ready for a night out? First you brawl and then you party?”

Kevin grinned. “God, I love cowboys.”

Reggie laughed and pulled out his communicator. “Can I video this and tag the JJ3FamClub on Tweeper?”

 _“What?”_ Jughead cried, still in the half nelson. “Sweet Pea, let me go or I swear to God--”

“Dude, didn’t you know you have online fans? Imma show you!”

“Reggie!” Betty hissed. _“Stop_ being such a dude bro!”

“What? It’s awesome!” Reggie crouched beside Jughead to take a selfie with him and the rest of guys flocked to be included in the photo.

“Wow, really?” Jughead cried as Reggie snapped away.

Chic shook his head as he watched them all. “And are you all sure you’re not the slightest bit high? Like, is this what you all do sober?”

“Stone cold, brother!” Reggie cried, jumping up and clapping Chic on the shoulder.

“Steroid are drugs, too, Reggie,” someone drawled from the door. In walked Veronica, carrying with her a huge bag of what Jughead could only assume were beauty products. She was followed by Toni, Shelly May, Josie, Sabrina, and Jellybean.

 _“Ladies,”_ Malachi gasped. “Oh, my God. Maybe we don’t need to go anywhere else!”

“We’re not going to strip for you, Malachi,” Toni grumbled.

“No?”

“Let’s go before Malachi says something even more obscene,” Harvey pleaded.

Jughead looked longingly at Betty and her outfit, which was all laid out on the bed. “Send me a pic.”

Betty grinned and kissed him one last time. “Have fun.” She tapped his cheek lightly as his party dragged him out.

As the door closed behind them, he shot everyone a murderous look. “This better be worth the time I’m spending away from Betty.”

Sweet Pea groaned. “Oh, my God. At least _pretend_ you’re not so fucking whipped!”

Kevin scoffed. “You ought to be honored you get to spend time with the likes of us, Jones.”

Joaquin chuckled. “You’re funny.”

Jughead could only roll his eyes.

Malachi clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Forsythe. You’re gonna like what I have planned.”

That made Jughead a tiny bit nervous, which made him surreptitiously nudge Chic and ask, “Do you know the itinerary of this whole thing?”

Chic shot him a sidelong glance. “Only the parts that I had to pay for.”

Jughead stifled a groan.

As they emerged on ship bay, FP was there to see them off, but it wasn’t Jughead he went to first. He nudged Chic’s shoulder and wagged a finger at him. “You have my number, boy?”

Chic tapped a finger against his temple. “I got it up here, old man. It’s on my comm, too.”

FP nodded. “Call me if you need to get picked up.”

Jughead couldn’t help but feel pride for what his father was doing. He never thought he’d see the day FP Jones would be acting like a responsible sponsor to someone else.

His father sent him off with a quick embrace, an obligatory note of caution, and one last reminder to watch out for Chic’s sobriety. “He’s your brother now.”

It amused Jughead that FP went from a negligent dad to a father who was willing to adopt other wayward sons.

They piled into Reggie’s shiny luxury craft, and as the ship flew off, Jughead was already thinking of going back to the Wyrm.

 

*********************

 

Jughead got the image on his comm just as they were ordering their appetizers--a picture of Betty in her shorts and high heels, looking at the camera like she knew she would kill him

_Legs to forever._

He sighed, his eyes lingering on this vision of his fiancee looking drop dead gorgeous without him. She was going to get hit on by men and women all night, and he didn’t mind this at all--it made him proud, when it happened while he was around and he would simply sling his arm over her shoulders to make the point without having to say a thing, but he wasn’t with her now, and it unsettled him--the way this bothered him, the same way it bothered him when she had to make bounty runs and investigations without him, as if being out with her friends alone and hunting fugitives were the same.

His therapist said that his instinct to protect very well bordered on his general mistrust of people--that while he may believe that his loved ones can take care of themselves, a large part of him still believed that people can just be terrible enough to be inventive about their misdeeds.

Someone whistled over his shoulder and Jughead scowled, putting his comm and Betty’s picture away from Malachi’s prying eyes.

“I’d be jetting back to the Wyrm, if I were you. You couldn’t possibly let her out alone in _that_ hot number,” said Malachi, grinning.

It was intensely unsettling that Malachi knew what he was thinking.

“Betty can take care of herself,” Jughead muttered. “She’s had a lot of training fending off douchebags by burning _your_ sorry ass on a regular basis.”

Malachi laughed and Harvey threw a napkin, hitting Malachi square in the face.

“Leave him alone, Malachi. It’s his bachelor’s party. Give him a break!”

Malachi pretended to be offended. “That’s no way to talk to your captain, private.”

“Only the Captain gets to call me private, Malachi,” Harvey shot back, probably half seriously.

“Can we take it easy with the pissing contests tonight? I can only take so much, sober,” Chic griped.  “Let’s just enjoy ourselves. You with your expensive wine and me with my sad-ass virgin raspberry iced tea.”

Jughead raised his glass. “And let’s not forget to thank the rich dudes who are funding this dinner, Chic, Kevin, and Reggie.”

This time, Chic threw the napkin at him. “Shut up.”

Jughead laughed, throwing the napkin back. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sweet Pea slapping Reggie’s back uproariously with a shared joke. Fangs was laughing with them, and Jughead couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, how his and Betty’s life were meshing together in other little ways.

“I didn’t put out much. I just got us the discounts,” Kevin said, winking at them and then raising his glass to the chef who just happened to be looking at their table.

“You sure you didn’t put out much?” Reggie asked, smirking.

Kevin gave a huff. “I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re implying, Reggie. Unlike you, I’m not a fuckboi.”

Joaquin cocked a grin, his eyes shining with amusement. His and Kevin’s shoulders were already pressed together, the spaces between them growing smaller as the night went on.

“Besides,” Kevin continued, taking the bottle of wine and pouring more for Joaquin’s glass. “I have my fill of good looking guys right at this table.”

He and Joaquin clinked glasses lightly.

In spite of Malachi’s constant ribbing and the distance between him and Betty, Jughead found that he was actually enjoying himself. The restaurant itself was fairly upscale, but nothing like the ones Betty’s parents had brought him to. The steaks were thick and deliciously cooked, the seafood was rich but piled high on their serving plates, and the desserts, while fancy, came in big helpings. And then of course, the conversation was entertaining, going from thoughtful and devolving into brainless humor--something Jughead didn’t have much of being on the Wyrm, the ship of introverts (FP was really the only one who liked meeting new people). He suspected that everyday of this zaniness would drive him crazy, but he welcomed it in small doses like this.

Reggie moaned as he stuck another spoonful of lava cake in his mouth. “This is so bad--another extra two hours at the gym this week.”

Chic popped a big ball of chocolate covered cream puff in his face. “Quit bitching, Mantle. I can’t have drugs or alcohol, and my therapist thinks I should avoid sex altogether, so this is the only indulgence I have. Are you going to eat that cake, Fogarty?”

Fangs didn’t even reply, scoffing and finishing what was left on his plate.

“Yo, is it time for strippers yet?” Sweet Pea asked over his creme brulee.

“Can you at least pretend you’re not hormonal and mentally 17?” Chic asked.  “First we all get a trim--maybe facials. The bunch of you are looking raggedy.”

 _“Excuse me?”_ Kevin gasped.

Fangs grinned, his mouth full of chocolate. “I could use a facial.”

Jughead touched his hair self-consciously. He supposed he did need a haircut before the wedding. He hadn’t touched it since the mines. He wanted it long, in fact, for Betty, since she seemed to like it better that way, but he had to look at least a bit more polished for the wedding.

Harvey sighed. “Really? Facials? The girls are going to laugh at us.”

“Please,” Malachi scoffed. “It’s the new millennium. Guys like us can do with some proper grooming. Besides, the girls are probably doing the exact same thing.”

Jughead arched an eyebrow. _Not in that outfit Betty was in, they won’t._

 

***********************

 

Betty was giddy and singing incredibly loud into the mic while her friends whooped and cheered from their seating. A bunch of other surrounding tables cheered with them, most of them containing guys who have attempted to buy them drinks all evening.

Her rendition of Gloria Gaynor’s _I Will Survive_ wasn’t terrible, especially considering she was riding a carb high brought from ice cream and extra-spicy chicken wings. Veronica knew how much of a lightweight she was, so the tiniest bit of alcohol would either make or ruin her night, so she hadn’t been pressed to drink--something Betty appreciated.

Everyone else seemed quite drunk, however. Even Jellybean had taken a shot and was now sitting red-faced at their table, mildly tipsy, if her willingness to wear her “I’m still single” t-shirt was any indication. Veronica’s “Maid of Dishonor” shirt was incredibly rumpled and Toni’s “Bad Influence” t-shirt was already stained with buffalo wing sauce. Shelly May had already removed her “Saucy & Bossy” t-shirt to tie around her head and Sabrina had already spilled cocktails on her chest across the words “Rhymes with Witch”. Josie’s said “Diva in Waiting.”

Their inebriation was invigorating to Betty, so her plastic tiara and the sash across her body that said “Same Penis Forever” didn’t feel so mortifying anymore. And then of course, wild singing was always fun.   

Polly has opted out of the Bachelorette party, and as much as Betty loved her, she was glad Polly had taken herself out of this situation, because she was sure her prim and proper sister would be scandalized all night by their antics, and Betty wanted to have wild fun with her girls.

Betty finished the song and she rated “100!!!” on her score, which just meant she had yelled appropriately loud into the mic.

Toni and Veronica bounded up on the stage, picking a song that made it abundantly clear that they were both completely uninterested in dick.

They all took their turns on the stage, even Jellybean, and when Josie brought the house down with nothing less that her own chart topping song, they jetted off to their next stop, which was a roller derby themed restaurant. Betty _loved_ this. The rinks were padded for safety and to minimise injuries associated with roller derbying in a regular rink, and skaters were required to wear more extensive gear, but it only set the stage for more aggressive skating.  

Betty put on her skates and was ready to hit where it mattered, and as they skated around the rink as The Rockets, they gamely brawled with an opposing team of other tough ladies in the rink.

They were all well padded and protected, which made the pushing and shoving less prone to them hurting one another seriously, but it was still very intense and Betty loved the roughhousing and working together as a team.

They got bruised, and there might have been a few drops of blood, but Betty was frankly surprised at how well Veronica and Josie took hits. Shelly May, Sabrina, and Toni were hardened bounty hunters, and Betty herself had survived physical adversity more than twice, and while Jellybean tended to stay in the sidelines at the Wyrm, she knew the violence of life through the lens of her family and friends, so the roller derby was a cakewalk for them, and yet Veronica and Josie skated and shoved like champs. Perhaps it did help that the rest of them protected their “young”, but their two fledgeling fighters didn’t back down, which made Betty very proud of her friends.  

Betty believed nothing could top this for the night, and as they returned their rented equipment, Veronica said, “We’ll wind down for a bit in a bar.”

Her words didn’t match her expression, if Betty were being honest. Veronica’s eyes were shining, and a shudder of excitement coursed through Betty.

“Where are you taking us, V?” Betty demanded.

Veronica and Toni giggled and Shelly May rolled her eyes.

Jellybean shook her head. “Your best friend is a bad influence, sis.”

“I like it,” Sabrina quipped.

Still riding the high from their well-mannered aggression, they went to the cowboy themed bar across town.

Betty found herself wearing a pink cowboy hat while playing laser tag with her friends and groups of strangers in a Wild Wild West setting. The difference from other laser tag places was that they had an audience, and they were allowed to place bets. Betty’s competitive streak kicked into overdrive. They were a group of bounty hunters. This was _their_ stage, and one by one, they conquered.

Betty was taking all this in. She rarely got to let loose with mindless fun and the fact was, she felt safe with her girls, knowing that no matter how wild they got, they were watching out for one another. She really couldn’t believe how much she was enjoying herself.

When they won, they were awarded horseshoes, which Betty thought incredibly cheesy but absolutely fun. She was laughing so hard that she barely noticed that one of the guys from the other team had gotten much too close and was getting handsy in the process.

She felt his hand clap her ass, and she was so startled by his gall that for a moment, all she could do was stare and think, _Jughead will beat your ass if he were here._

It was Veronica who rose to the occasion, pushing the guy back and yelling at him to keep his hands to himself. A couple of other guys came up to mollify her, but Shelly May, Toni, and Sabrina were having none of it. Jellybean and Josie tried to calm all of them down, but someone grabbed Jellybean’s arm and Betty saw red.

Betty grabbed the guy’s wrist and twisted it behind him, sending his face crashing against a table and knocking everything that was on it--drinks, plates of food, and bottles of liquor. When a couple of his friends tried to shove her off him, Shelly May threw a punch, after which all hell broke loose.

Before Betty could really comprehend what was happening, the entire bar was getting in on the fight. Bettty felt oddly calm about this, since she’d been in worse situations, and by the look on her cowgirls’ faces, _they_ seemed to be relishing this experience, but someone must have knocked over a candle, or maybe an emergency switch had gotten pulled, because the next thing Betty knew, the overhead sprinklers were going off and their entire party was escaping through the back exit, climbing over the dumpster to get over the back-alley wall.

“God, Jughead will never let me live this down,” Betty told her friends as she scampered over the fence without the slightest bit of grace.

Jellybean grinned. “He shouldn’t! It’s epic!”

Veronica laughed. “Why, JB! Dare I say you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I mean--I got to kick a couple of guys on the balls. I’m just saying.”

She said this to the background sounds of police sirens, and because they didn’t want to get arrested, they quickly put distance between the WWW Bar & Grill and themselves.

 

*****************

  

Jughead’s skin felt fresh and tingly, and his new haircut made his head feel light and airy. The cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth snaked smoke into his eye and he had to blink to keep it from watering.

“You can do this, Jug. You were the best knife thrower the Def Cor had. Just throw the fucking ax, already,” Sweet Pea muttered, both encouraging and impatient.  

“Shut the fuck up, Sweets!” Fangs hissed.

The ax was a comfortable weight in Jughead’s hand and he hefted it lightly to steady his aim.  

When Chic first mentioned that they would go ax throwing after their leisurely stop at the barbershop, Jughead’s first question was whether there would be alcohol involved, because sharp objects and saucy libations were a bad combination.

His concerns were booed down, and now here he was, a beer in one hand and an ax in another, bets between their table and next--his competitive streak was dialed up to 100% intensity.

He took a deep puff of cigarette smoke, blew it out, and threw his ax, putting his shoulder into it. It flew, spinning in the air just right, before it smacked the target loudly, dead center.

 _“Fuck, yeah!”_ Jughead cried as his teammates whooped and cheered. The other table groaned as they sniped at one another at the loss.

Reggie got up on one of the bar stools and addressed the other tables. “Next bitch!”

They laughed at Reggie’s bravado.

They had a few more challengers, and it was almost unfair that most of their group were basically trained and practiced at throwing sharp objects. They won every challenge, and by the time their sessions expired, they had extra cash to burn.

They took their money and spent it on burgers, because Jughead wasn’t the only bottomless pit in their troupe. The next stop was an exclusive bar, where Malachi, with the help of everyone’s--but mostly Reggie’s--credit cards, got them a private lounge where there were huge monitors for viewing and a golf driving range to shoot into big holes in the ground for points.

A few guys whom Jughead didn’t know came in to say hello to Chic, Reggie, and Kevin. Jughead was introduced as the celebrant. They all congratulated him on his upcoming wedding, because of course they knew who Betty was.

Their party were split into two teams, and of course they got competitive, trash talking as they went, with Kevin occasionally showing Joaquin how to swing a club.

Jughead was just waiting for them to disappear together. It was yet to be determined if it was for a few minutes or for the rest of the night.

He was concentrating on making his golf swing count when Reggie jumped out of his seat and cried, “Oh, shit! Yo, tweeper’s blowing up. Sounds like the girls got into a brawl at the Wild Wild West Bar & Grill--several eyewitnesses!”

The speed in which panic suffused Jughead was almost comical. He hailed her on his comm and the moment she picked up, he saw that she was soaking wet, her hair was in ruins, and he couldn’t tell if the corner of her lip was bleeding or if her lipstick had smudged.

 _“What the fuck?”_ he cried.

“Jesus, you look like shit.” Chic’s filter was at zero. “Are you alright?”

She stuck her tongue out at Chic, then she grinned, which was a direct contrast to Jughead’s feelings of worry. “Hi, Juggie! You look positively glowing! Did you just get a haircut?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to preen at her compliments. “Who did that to you? I’m going to fucking kill the guy--”

“Do what?”

Malachi crowded Jughead’s other shoulder. “Hey, there, Blondie! Your lip’s bleeding. Did someone hit you? And why are you drenched?”

“Oh!” she cried. He could hear the other girls in the background and they were only just now noticing that Betty was talking to someone.

“Is that Jughead?” came Veronica’s voice. “Tell him it wasn’t our fault!”

 _“Totally_ not our fault,” Sabrina chimed over Betty’s shoulder.

Jellybean appeared over Betty’s other side and waved at Jughead. “Hey, douche. The other guy totally copped a feel from Betty--he had his hand right on her ass! You should’ve seen V. She practically scratched the other guy’s eyes out!”

“Barely!” Veronica cried, though she sounded like she would’ve been proud if she had.

Shelly May gave a loud, booming laugh. “Your wife can throw down, Jug. She was great!”

Jughead frowned. “Betty, are you okay?”

She shrugged and touched her lip. “Yeah, I’m good. Could’ve gotten this at the roller derby, could’ve been at the bar fight--there were _all_ these people flying around. But we’re all good! We got out the back to avoid the cops.  Sprinklers went off before we could get out, though, so we’re kind of a mess.” She giggled.

Jughead frowned. “Are you drunk?”

She scoffed. “Not even a little. I’ve had a _lot_ of sugar, though. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten this much cake and ice cream.”

“Okay, where are you? I think I should--”

“Stop,” she drawled, laughing. “We’re totally fine. We might all go for a change of outfit, but--” Betty’s gaze swerved distractedly away from her comm. “Oh, we’re here! We’re going zero gravity dancing! Or did Josie say bungee jumping?”

“Wait, what? Betty--”

“I gotta go! Love you, babe!” She blew him a kiss through the screen and blinked out.

Jughead had to fight the urge to call her back. As alarmed as he was, they certainly looked like they were having fun.

“Where do the girls get off going to the roller derby and getting into bar fights?” Sweet Pea cried. “While we’re having gentleman dinners and facials!”

“Forget that! They’re bungee jumping drunk!” Fangs yelled. “I wanna bungee jump drunk!”

Chic scowled at him. “They aren’t doing that and neither are we. And what are you all complaining about? You were throwing sharp objects while drinking! I’m surprised we all have our limbs intact.”

“I wanna do more stupid stuff!” Fangs cried.

Reggie jumped up on the couch, arms outstretched. “Yeah!”

Harvey put his hands up. “Okay, _I_ don’t! For the record! Stupid is not on my agenda!”

Kevin made a sound of disgust. “Ugh, honestly, straight people!”

“Yeah, honestly,” Joaquin said, grinning and draping an arm over Kevin’s shoulders.

“Um, half of those girls are _not_ straight,” Sweet Pea pointed out.

Malachi looked startled. “They’re not?”

“And where the hell are the strippers?” Sweet Pea demanded.

Everyone started arguing about what they wanted to do next and Jughead wanted to yell at them all to stop acting like teenagers.  

But before he could do or say anything, Malachi had raised himself above the din and shouted, “Okay, everyone settle the fuck down! Did you all think I would leave you high and dry? The night ain’t over!”

“I want strip--”

“Shut up, Sweet Pea!” Malachi growled at him. “You, of all people, are gonna love this next bit.”

Jughead felt like pointing out that until everyone started getting jealous of how wild a time the girls were having, they were all perfectly enjoying themselves.

Reggie sighed, scrolling down the screen of his comm. He showed Jughead a photograph of the girls standing hand in hand in matching roller-derby gear--helmets, pads, mouth-pieces, and of course, roller skates, but in their various club outfits of shorts and rompers. “Just look at the girls when they went roller derbying.”

Jughead sighed. “I really enjoyed our facials, though.”

“Yeah,” Fangs replied, touching his jaw, to which no one argued.

Chic, however, scoffed. “Please. You guys are the biggest divas. If Malachi brought us roller derbying, you all would have been complaining all night about how ruined your expensive suits would have gotten.

“There’s plenty of time for mischief,” Malachi said, grinning. “You guys ever heard of the Grudge Dome?”

Jughead was getting seriously worried. “Is this going to get me in trouble with Betty?”

“What? Naw. It’s just harmless fun. What would Betty possibly find infuriating about that?”

 

************************

 

The Grudge Dome was filled with avid, screaming fight fans who loved the drama of a good grudge and the action of a well-organized duel. Its patrons consisted of celebrities from various entertainment industries, intermingling with the everyday fun-seeking working-class galactic populace.

The place tended to thrive on the grudges of regular folk, but on weekends, fight night’s main events hosted the famous.

Jughead cannot believe he had fallen inadvertently into this category, in any way.  He couldn’t believe that Malachi arranged for a grudge match with Archie Andrews. And it was beyond his imagination that a grudge match between Jughead Jones and Archie Andrews would get the entire 2nd Quadrant flocking to the Grudge Dome to see them settle the score.

Speculation of Archie’s past broken nose began to trend again, and when a Tweeper called it the Grudge Match of their Generation, Jughead began to think that this was a stupid idea, that Betty was going to kill him, and that he would never live this shitshow down.

The fact was, when he agreed to do this, it was because he thought this could be done with anonymity. How was he, a cowboy in the 4th Quadrant, expected to believe that strangers would be interested in his life? That he was, as they called him, famous? Even supposing people heard of the trial and the scandal that rocked the higher echelons of planetary defense, people hardly paid attention to that sort of thing--or so he thought.

He was a fool.

He should’ve taken Reggie’s accounts of his Tweeper fandom seriously. He should’ve believed Chic when he said, “You do realize that you and my sister are now called Jetty and that there are millions of strangers _invested_ in your relationship, right? You and she have memes.”

And when, in the midst of his hands getting taped in the Grudge Dome’s locker rooms, he got a call from Penny Peabody, he knew he was up shit’s creek.

“I hate you, Jones,” was what Penny said, her voice rising to a shrill scream. “A curse upon your loins. Are you fucking kidding me?”

After Penny called him every possible derogatory name in the urban dictionary, she told him she was going to spin this to look like a Conscious Purge of Animosity, a Well-Mannered Rivalry, a means of finally putting to rest the speculation of any kind of Love Triangle.

The call ended with Jughead sweating at the thought that Betty was never ever going to forgive him for this.

“I’m fucked,” Jughead moaned at Chic. “Betty is going to be furious.”

Chic scowled. “You should’ve thought of that when you were listening to Malachi freaking Martinez, who doesn’t have your best interests at heart when it comes to Betty.”

“Honest to God, I thought no one would care!” His regret was palpable.

When Betty suddenly materialized at the locker room doors, the furious determination on her face terrifying him like it never has, he was ready to tear off his gloves, get on his knees, and promise her that he would never think of doing something this stupid ever again.

But when she caught his face between her hands and planted a stomach dropping kiss on his lips, his thoughts wavered from repentance to all-out Fight to the Death.

“Jughead Jones, this is stupid and infantile and I can’t believe you agreed to this,” she told him when they separated.  

He swallowed, nervous all over again. “I know, but I never thought the galaxy would care.”

She sighed and she shook her head, the fondness in her gaze laced with exasperation. “Jug, you’re not doing this to prove anything, are you? I mean, you know Archie and I are _way over.”_

Heat bloomed from his neck up. “God, yes. I know all that. This is just--I don’t know, it seemed like a great idea. He still pisses me off,  thinking about how he treated you, especially whenever I hear him making those social media digs at you and hear his not-so-subtly worded lyrics--like, who the fuck does he think he is?”

She chuckled and he realized that he was madder about it than he thought, just that he got caught up in far deadlier dramas the last few months and his issues with Archie seemed so petty in comparison.

When Malachi told him this was happening, he thought it the perfect way to expel his anger--that last vestige of junk in his brain that he always wanted to sweep away but couldn’t.

“Well then,” she said, cupping his freshly shaved face in her hands. “You get out there and show him who’s King. He isn’t the least bit worthy of being on the receiving end of your—well, whatever you call that thing--”

“Jousting stick.”

She pressed her lips together, no doubt suppressing a laugh. “Jousting stick. You were _never_ the replacement. There was never anyone but _you._ You are my goddamn soulmate and absolutely nothing compares to what you and I have. You hear me?”

Jughead could feel his lips stretching to a smile, and he already felt like a champion. He wrapped his arms around her waist, wrist guards and all, and lifted her to him, taking more of that kiss that he had been missing all night.

This entire grudge match was _still_ stupid as hell, but having Betty in his corner like this--Archie was going _down._

“Just don’t lose any teeth,” she said as a parting shot.

It was a spectacle, the match, with their respective faces projected in the jumbo hologram floating above the crowd, along with their stats--height, weight, age, and reach advantage.

Jughead was taller and longer, but he was leaner and older. Archie, while smaller, was heavier on muscle and he was younger by a few years.

Their occupations said: J. Jones: Bounty hunter, ESDC veteran, space fleet captain, purple heart; and A. Andrews: Musician, Lead guitarist and singer for the Archies, division champion in wrestling, millionaire playboy, part time boxing trainer.

It was on Tweeper that Betty’s name got bandied around, how they were fiance and ex-fiance respectively, which only made him madder on a primal level. Archie had his chance and he fucked it all up. He had no right to act like a little bitch because Betty had found happiness with someone else.  

Reggie gave Jughead the quick lowdown on Archie.

“Honestly, the guy has no weaknesses. He’s fit, he’s strong, and he practices boxing in the gym, daily. Just don’t let him get you. That’s all there is to it, Jones.”

Jughead shot him a scowl. “Literally the most useless advice, Mantle.”

Betty shoved Reggie aside with a pointed glare. “Archie’s not used to people disliking him and he had _always_ gotten what he wanted. As soon as he realizes that he’s going to have to work for approval, he’ll get rattled. Also, while you might not be boxing, when he swings with his right, he drops his left--every time.”

_God, I love her._

Jughead had a lot of training behind him from his days at the ESDC, and the bounty hunting had kept his instincts honed for danger, but in spite of keeping fit and staying sharp, he never had to fight competitively in any kind of ring. Out in the field, he wasn’t constrained by rules, which was going to be a challenge in a setting that forbids most of his survival tactics.  

At any rate, Archie looked incredibly cut. Jughead couldn’t dedicate that much time to building muscle.

They were given proper high tech fighting gear--wrist guards, mouth piece, head gear, some body padding, and Grudge Dome workout clothing--a shirt, shorts, leggings, and matching sneakers.

“Captain, you gotta represent,” Harvey told him, surrounded by his ESDC crew. Sweet Pea, Joaquin, Fangs, Toni, and Sabrina each clapped him on the back, telling him he could wipe the floor with the rich kid.

Veronica told him she had all her money on him. “You beat that cheating asshole to the ground, Jug. He disrespected my girl. He disrespected _your_ girl.”

All this was oddly helping.

Malachi was the one who came up to him and said, “Stay scrappy, Jones. This ain’t no federation-standard fight. This isn’t your career. Break the fucking rules. He’ll never see you coming.”

Jughead grinned.

There were 3 rounds, 3 minutes each. They each had padded jousting sticks--like humongous Q-tips, and they had the option to hold a shield. The object was to fight over a platform set above a pool of water. The first one to knock someone off the platform and into the pool wins. If at the end of three rounds, no one had fallen over, the fight would go to decision. Jughead was going for the kill.

When one thought about it, not a lot of damage could be caused in 3 minute intervals, especially if you were hitting your opponent with something as silly as a giant padded baton, and the rules were in place to make sure no one got seriously hurt. In all actuality, this wasn’t going to send anyone to the hospital and the set up was designed to entertain everyone, fighters included.

Jughead discovered that there were battle options--a whole array of padded weaponry, props for a more animated encounter, hell the entire ring could be turned into a mud pit. It was Malachi who chose this setting, because he was Malachi and he was, on a certain level, happy to watch two guys throwing down for Betty’s honor in the silliest way.

When he and Archie were called to the ring and told to meet in the middle, Jughead put on his bounty hunter face and sauntered up to him with a sneer.

Archie came at him quick, yelling as he said. “I’m gonna get you back for what you did to me on the ship, Jones. I’m going to get you for stealing my girl!”

Jughead had to dig deep to contain himself about “stealing” Betty. He was going to get Archie for that, later. Right now, the game was intimidation. “Just you try, pretty boy. I haul in cold blooded killers and genocidal maniacs for breakfast. I survived weeks in a slave mine in the far reaches of space. What do _you_ do everyday?”

Archie frowned, the slightest hint of hesitation in the flicker of his gaze. “You don’t scare me, Jones. I got competition experience and I train three hours everyday, 7 days a week.”

“Is that before or after you sing your ballads?”

Archie actually looked offended and Jughead had to resist the laughter that was threatening to bubble from his chest. Betty’s advice was coming in real handy.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Archie hissed, pointing a finger at him.

Jughead’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, yeah?”

“I mean, not for real,” Archie added, hastily--awkwardly. “You know that, right? We aren’t _really_ supposed to kill each other.”

Jughead let him marinate in his uncertainty for a couple of seconds. “Accidents happen, Andrews.”

Archie swallowed and Jughead had to breath to keep from giggling. Archie may still beat his ass, but the rich dude was so sheltered that the mildest of threats so easily rattled him.

The official’s voice cut through their trash talk, telling them he wanted a good clean fight. Jughead smirked, and when the ref told them to touch jousting sticks, they pounded pads harder than necessary, shoved in their mouth pieces, and stepped back onto their respective sides of the platform.

When the official said fight, Archie came at him swinging.

 

**********************

 

The problem, it seemed, with Archie Andrews, was that he had never gone up against a hardened man like Jughead Jones. While it was clear that technically, Archie had all the moves--as evidenced by his flawless footwork and the amount of hits he swung, Jughead was _tough,_ and his strength came from raw survival.

When Archie stared into Jughead’s eyes, he was starting at a man who has had to fight for everything and everyone he loved. He was a man who never had it easy and has had to deal with adversity from the tender age of 9. Jughead could take hits, probably something Archie has never had to deal with in an opponent before, but more importantly, Jughead knew how to deflect the swing of a weapon.

“What the hell do you eat on that ship?” Archie asked through his mouthpiece when his jab landed but Jughead barely flinched.

Jughead had many places to go to with that, but this was as good a time as any to communicate with Archie, being that they would probably never sit down to talk otherwise. As it was, people were cheering all around them and chanting their names, but they could hear one another, and Jughead liked that.

“You know what your problem is, Andrews?” It was difficult to speak through the mouth piece, but he was going to get the words out if it killed him. “Y’ always had it easy.” He threw a swing, which Archie deflected. “When y’ fail, it’s everyone else’s fault except yours.”

Jughead threw a combination and Archie ducked, countering with his own. Jughead took a hit but it barely fazed him, and Archie danced back to put some distance between them, careful not to fall off the edge and into the water.

“I’m not like that!” Archie shot back petulantly.

Jughead grit his teeth for a moment. “Y’ cheated on Betty, blamed her for it, treated her like shit, and you don’t even know it, you dumb fuck!”

Archie frowned and Jughead swung, putting his feelings into it, and one of his joust landed on the side of Archie’s head, which sent Archie stumbling. But Archie recovered quickly.

“I did my best!”

“Your best sucked!” Jughead hit him on the back of the knees and Archie folded, but not without clocking Jughead on his ribs.

Jughead felt it knocking the wind out of him. Padded as the jousts were, they were still _pretty hard._

He was about to retaliate with a hit to the back of Archie’s shoulder when the bell rang and they had to break at their respective sides.

“You almost had him!” Sweet Pea said, giving him a drink of water.

Fangs was wiping his sweat and even Chic was giving him pointers on staying on the platform and getting hits in.  

Betty slung her elbows over the tank and looked up at him. “You’re doing great, Jug, but are you still enjoying yourself?”

As he caught his breath, he thought about her question and felt the remnants of satisfaction, both from telling Archie off and landing hits on him.  Was he enjoying himself?

_Hell, yes._

“Babe, this was a long time coming,” he said, just as Reggie shoved the mouthpiece back in his mouth.

The second round was even more engaged, and Jughead put his weight on his hits, fully intending to see Archie topple over the side and into the water, but Archie was strong and agile, avoiding the tumble and almost getting Jughead to fall over into the water himself.

“I dunno what you’re so mad about,” Archie said, circling. “You should be grateful she dumped me for you!”

The rage that came over him at Archie’s words surprised even him. “She dumped you for herself, you piece of shit!”

Jughead swung his stick so forcefully that he knocked Archie’s right off his hands, sending Archie’s stick flying into the pool, but instead of using his own stick to beat Archie back, the realization that Archie hadn’t grown _at all_ since they last saw one another drove Jughead to a primal need to feel his fist connect with Archie’s face.

Jughead threw his own stick aside and swung. His punch could’ve knocked Archie out, but the head gear padded his hit, and all it did was cause Archie to stagger for a moment before coming to his senses and charging Jughead like a bull.

There was shrill cry, like his name piercing the shouts of the crowd, and it was a familiar voice, but he barely heard it above the roar of blood in his ears.

Jughead wasn’t going to let Archie take their fight to the ground just yet. He lifted his his knee, smashing it right into Archie’s ribs. There was a distinct suck of breath, Archie’s chest hitching against Jughead’s body distinctly, so Jughead hit him again, and again, until Archie finally let go and stepped back.

“You’re toast, Jones!” Archie declared, putting his hands up in a fighting stance. “I’ve been traini--”

Jughead didn’t let him finish. He charged Archie, his shoulder digging into Archie’s gut and lifting him to send him crashing on the mat beneath them.  

Jughead wasn’t a technical fighter. He’d never fought in any kind of ring, but as Malachi said, he was scrappy, and he knew how to overcome an opponent through sheer force of instinct. He wasn’t a complete dunce at close-quarter combat, since it was a large portion of their ESDC training, but his pent up anger for Archie was so intense that he forgot any technical aspect to how he was landing his fists and elbows into Archie’s face. Archie moaned, but he wasn’t out. He shoved Jughead right off him, which almost sent Jughead stumbling right into the pool.  

Jughead regained his balance and glared at him.

“Well, what do you want from me?” Archie cried. “You already got the girl!”

It pissed Jughead off that he was expected to explain all this to Archie, but he was done talking. “Penny will let you know after I’m through with you.”

The bell rung and as they went to their corners, it occurred to Jughead that the official hadn’t stopped the fight. This was, apparently, everything the Grudge Dome can hope for, and the excited narration of the announcer worked the crowd harder.

“Holy shit, man, this just got ten times better!” Sweet Pea cried, to the chorus of Reggie and Fangs.

Chic gave him some water as Betty came up behind him, a frantic look in her eyes.

“Juggie! Oh, my God, you need to stop this _now.”_

Malachi laughed. “He’s just getting started!”

“Shut up, Malachi! I told you I’d stab you in the heart if anything happened to Juggie. I have _not_ forgotten that promise!”

“Betty, it’s fine. I’m fine. I need this,” Jughead said through grit teeth. “When this night’s through, there will be no more songs, no more tweeps, no more vague posts about you. I’m gonna smarten up that dumb fuck for you.”

Betty’s scowl transitioned to something closer to a pout. “I don’t know if landing a fist to his face will help or hinder that, babe, honestly.”

Jughead grinned. “It’s the only language Archie knows.” He pressed a kiss to Betty’s lips before shoving the mouthpiece back in and turning at the sound of the bell.

When Jughead faced Archie for the third round, Archie looked at him with fierce determination, but Jughead was a man on a mission. He urged Archie to come at him and Archie took the bait.

He threw combinations and Jughead did a slip each time--one, two, and when Archie swung with a right hook, Jughead saw him drop his left, just as Betty said he would, and Jughead took that window of opportunity. He threw his punch, hips twisting, shoulders turning, and his fist connected with the underside of Archie’s chin right between the pads of his headgear. Archie’s mouthpiece shot out and he dropped to the ground like a stone.  

The crowd roared around him and Jughead had to admit, it felt damn good to put Archie out in front of a large audience.

Jughead spat his mouthpiece out and it bounced against Archie’s shoulder. “That was for Betty!”

Archie groaned, his eyes spinning as his corner descended upon him.

Jughead turned and ran to the edge of the ring, climbing the ropes. He threw his arms out to the crowd in victory. He felt Sweet Pea lifting him over his shoulders and Jughead was floating above the crowd, the announcer going berserk in the background. There were a sea of hands, reaching up to high five him, and Jughead could’ve let himself get lost in the euphoria, but he looked for Betty, and he found her, shaking her head but laughing.

He told Sweet Pea to put him down, and when his feet hit the ground, he went to her.

“That felt good,” he admitted.

“I’ll bet,” she said. “I have to admit, I liked watching Archie lose to you.” She slipped her arms over his shoulders and pulled herself closer. “And I never thought I’d say this, but you looked hot fighting in that ring.”

He grinned, pulling her closer by the waist. “All for you, babe.”

She scoffed, acknowledging the absurdity, perhaps, of this entire exercise. She kissed him, however, and it felt like a reward, the way her body pressed against his and every part of their mouths connected.

When Betty kissed him this way, the crowd around them melted away. It was like they were the only two people in the universe.

Nevermind that their kiss was being projected in the jumbotron for all to see.

 

**************************

 

Just before they left the Grudge Dome, Archie had come up to them, congratulating them on their wedding.

Betty was surprised, but Jughead looked less so.  He did, however, wait for Betty’s reaction.

“Thanks, Arch,” she finally said. “We’re really happy about it, too. How’s the--uh, chin?”

Archie smirked and rubbed it. “It’s good, no thanks to Jughead. You have a mean undercut there, man! I didn’t know what hit me!”

Jughead wasn’t completely ready to play nice with him, but Jughead did appreciate him being positive about all this.  “You talked to Penny yet?”

Archie’s face visibly reddened. “Yeah… I just wanted to say--” he sighed and pursed his lips for a second before continuing. “I didn’t mean to talk trash about you in my songs and social media posts, Betty. I guess it was just--you know, _material._ Made good songs, and honestly, after the scandal, it was all I can think about. Like, folks I didn’t know and girls I’ve never met in my life called me a cheat and a hoe. I could feel people talking about me behind my back. I never had to deal with being universally disliked before, so I guess I put my feelings out in my music.”

Betty actually felt a little sorry for him, and she could feel an apology on her lips, but Jughead slung an arm over her shoulders and said, “Hey, consequences for our actions can be a bitch.”

Amazingly, Archie didn’t argue against that point. He told them he’d see them around, congratulated them again, and then he left, whistling--of all things.

Now, as Betty leaned against Jughead, the smell of soap and shampoo wafting into her nostrils, she stared at the view from the top of a ferris wheel and mused out loud, “Tonight was wild.” The soft breeze hit her face, the ferris wheel frozen in time.

On a normal night, the wheel wouldn’t stop turning, but Chic and Veronica had apparently paid for the exclusive use of the contraption for as long as they wanted it, and Betty couldn’t help but take advantage.

After tonight, there was the rehearsal dinner, and because it was sponsored by Polly, it was in a nice place where everyone had to wear a suit. Not that what they were wearing actually mattered. There just wasn’t much room for casual fun. When Polly was at the helm, things were always somewhat prim and proper.

Jughead chuckled into her hair. “And there weren’t even any strippers.”

“Can’t believe we both got into fights.”

“I can’t believe you went roller derbying and I didn’t get to see it.”

She laughed. “I held on longer than anyone.”

“I have no doubt about that.” He kissed her on the lips, and for a while, all they did was make out in the ferris wheel.

Eventually, the wheel did bring them down, and they joined their friends for games, caramel corn, and a lot of orange soda.

For all the hoopla and crazy antics, Betty thought this was her favorite part of the night, where they were enjoying this moving carnival, sipping soda from a straw, and walking, her hand in Jughead’s, and enjoying the company of their friends.

“I love you, Juggie.”

He didn’t seem the least bit surprised at the random declaration. “I love you, too, baby.”

She draped his arm over her shoulder as they followed the gang and headed for the merry-go-round.

 

********************

Jughead could see his dad smirking over his shoulder on the mirror’s reflection. He was adjusting his gray euro tie the slightest bit.

“What?”

FP snorted. “Boy, you’re nervous.”

Jughead gave a soft huff. “No, I’m not.”

“I’ve seen you on a mission to put away serial killers and drug lords, son. I know when you’re nervous.”

That was a fair point. “Maybe just a little… this thing is tilted and I can’t fix it.”

“Lemme see.”

Jughead turned sideways, lifting his chin slightly so that his father could make the adjustments.

“What’re you nervous about?” FP asked as Jughead felt the gentle tugs on the tie.

Jughead blew a breath between his lips. “I don’t know. Weren’t you nervous on your wedding day?”

“I was drunk out of my mind. I didn’t have the wits to be nervous.”

“Right… I guess it’s that I haven’t seen Betty since the rehearsal dinner. That’s five days since I haven’t seen her and it’s just--she calms me, so not having her around… this is big--we’re getting married, and she and I should’ve been counting the days down together. It’s just weird.”

A mild chuckle rippled from FP’s chest. “She’s at the other end of the aisle right now. You can go see her if you like.”

“And have Veronica slit my throat? No thank you. That woman is incredibly superstitious.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait like the rest of us, then.” FP pressed the dimple into his tie and clapped his arm. “There. Take a look.”

Jughead turned to look into the mirror again and saw that his tie was fixed. The color of his tie matched his vest, a dark contrast to his white spread collar shirt. His pants and tailcoat were, however, a classic black.

It was the most expensive piece of clothing he had ever owned, but it fit him perfectly. The benefits of a custom made suit.

“I guess I look fit to be married to Betty Cooper.”

FP shot him a look. “Are you still on about that?”

Jughead smirked. “I’m kidding. I’ve been way over that since New York.”

He felt ready for this wedding--had been ready to marry Betty since the day he asked her, but whatever efforts they may have made to keep things simple, it was still the biggest and most elaborate party that Jughead had ever helped organize.

He had no complaints. He was happy he and Betty could have this. He wanted everyone to know how important this was to him, and how significant he felt it was.  This wasn’t two drunk adults marrying for a lark. This wasn’t a shotgun wedding because someone was pregnant.

Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper were getting married because he asked and she said yes, because they wanted to be together for as long as humanly possible, and because they wanted it to be official.

“Listen, kid, I know this is an awkward time to tell you this, but I don’t know when else--your mom and I have a wedding present for you.”

Jughead turned to look at his father, suddenly bashful at his father’s thoughtfulness. “You shouldn’t have, dad. You know I’m just happy all of you are here.” And Jughead meant that. He didn’t need anything from his folks except for them to get along and be there for his and Jellybean’s respective milestones. That was all the gift he valued from them.

FP waved his words away. “You gonna tell me that Alice and the Cooper kids didn’t get you anything?”

Of course Alice and the Coopers got them something. Alice had gifted them with Parc Acre in New York, an incredibly, unnecessarily expensive gift, which Betty got anxious about the instant Alice handed them the keys at the rehearsal dinner. Betty’s expression was one of wonder and--Jughead knew--practical consideration, but before Betty said something that would cause a Betty-Alice argument, Jughead thanked his would-be mother-in-law profusely, let Alice fawn over how incredible her gift was, then gently reminded her that they needed to get back to the rehearsal dinner. Alice let them go, clearly proud that she had given her daughter a fortune’s worth of a gift. Betty was worried about who would be responsible for the property taxes on the thing, so Jughead had to calm her down and remind her that they could worry about the details of it later, which helped in appeasing Betty’s anxieties for the moment.  

Polly and Chic pooled credits—which they appreciated and sent directly to their savings.  

But that was all beside the point. Alice and the Coopers’ gifts had nothing to do with his mom and dad. “They did give us gifts, but this isn’t a competition.”

FP shook his head. “Your mom and I have a lot to make up for with you kids. The least we can do is act like parents on your wedding.” He fished something from his pocket and took out what looked like a quarter inch flat iron disk the size of a credit card. It had grooves and synapses etched into it and Jughead recognized it immediately.

When FP handed it to him, Jughead shook his head. “I can’t accept that, dad. That ship is your life.”

“Boy, you’re my life. You and your sister, and Betty, and the kids you’re gonna have. The Wyrm became everything I hoped for—the ship that brought our family back together, and you’d have inherited it anyway. I’m just giving it to you ahead of time. Well, your mother and I. We pooled our savings and paid for the remaining balance on the thing, now you just need to maintain it. You got a good mechanic to make sure the thing’s flight worthy?” He grinned, pleased at his cheekiness.

Jughead wasn’t through protesting, but at this point he was just processing the significance of this gift, that his father was telling him he was far more important than something he thought mattered the most to FP. “Dad—“

“Son, it’s our gift to you. You deserve it. You are the owner and captain of the Whyte Wyrm now. When you get back from your honeymoon, it’ll be prettier than ever. Your mom and I have already arranged for a bit of refurbishing in its interior. You and Betty will have the captain’s chamber—big improvement from the cabins, I promise you. You ain’t kicking me off the ship, though. You’re stuck with your doddering old man.”

Jughead felt the weight of the key in his palm and his throat started to tighten from emotion. “Betty and I want nothing more than to have you and JB on the ship, for as long as you want.”

FP’s lips tightened to a line and his eyes grew watery, but he nodded and clapped Jughead on the back without a word.

Jughead swallowed. “Thanks, dad.”

“You’re welcome, son. Don’t forget to thank your mother.”

He nodded, staring at the key in his palm just so he wouldn’t have to look FP in the eyes. He still had an entire wedding to get through and it wouldn’t do to be a blubbering mess so soon in the festivities.  

Instead, he put his arms around FP, and FP squeezed back.  He felt FP clapping his back again, and when his father pulled away to hold Jughead’s face between his hands, no doubt relishing Jughead’s watery gaze, he grinned and said, “Let’s get you married, kid.”

********************

 

Betty had to admit that she was getting emotional, and she had to breathe lest she ruin her makeup.  

Why she picked this time to do this, she didn’t know, but she seemed to have gotten it in her head that peeing on a stick while wearing her gown would be ten time harder, therefore prone to error, so she had decided that she would do this before she got into her wedding dress, and now she was in this predicament, happiness mingling with mild uncertainty, her calm for _finally_ getting married to Jughead interspersed with her excitement at the fact that they were going to have a baby, her plans for the future that she thought so solidified suddenly liquefying again, but not in a bad way.

She supposed she wasn’t all that surprised about the test results. She’d had a feeling for a while now. She had turned down alcohol consistently the last few weeks--really, it was a wonder people hadn’t noticed, then again, she had always been Ms. Lightweight, so perhaps no one questioned because it was her--and she had taken mindful steps at her diet and environment, even out of sheer caution that maybe, perhaps, probably.... She wasn’t quite feeling nauseous yet, but she was beginning to feel sensitive about everything--smells were stronger, emotions were a little harder to manage, and her breasts have been tender for a couple of weeks now.

She had asked herself how this could happen, because she thought she had religiously taken her pills on schedule, but then again, those wormholes had thrown her off more than once in the past, and this was probably inevitable. She should’ve gotten a less involved means of contraception, like injections or IUDs, but the truth was, she wasn’t sure she _didn’t_ want to get pregnant, either.

Pregnancy still had it challenges, but the advances in science and medicine had changed perceptions about the burdens imposed upon pregnant women. She could still do most of the things she did, pregnant or otherwise, and childbirth, whether natural or by c-section, had improved for faster postnatal recovery. None of her future plans can get derailed by a pregnancy and the fact that this would make Jughead so happy was just a plus in their already happy lives.

The only thing that Betty believed could be an issue was her bounty hunting, but she figured they could talk about it when they had to talk about it. In the meantime, she had to think about timing, because if she told Jughead now, they would _both_ be a bawling mess, and honestly, they had given months to this event, so she could probably spend another couple of hours just letting this happen so that all the planning and grief they had to put up with didn’t go to waste.

Betty plucked a tissue from a box and blew her nose.  That forestalled the watery eyes. She was going to get through this in one piece, because as much as she wanted to tell the world she was expecting _,_ she wanted Jughead to be the first one to know.

When she was composed enough, she stepped out of the bathroom and met her adoring entourage.

Polly and Jellybean were already in their bridesmaid gowns--dusty blue dresses that were styled to their respective body types.  Jellybean, reedlike and tall, had a cinched waist, while Polly, curvy and feminine wore a more form fitting cut. Veronica, as a maid of honor, had her dress in a gauzy, flowing skirt and a deeply V-cut  top that made her look stunning.

Veronica took Betty by the hands and sat her down in front of the mirror. Her makeup was done but her hair needed styling, which she already knew wouldn’t be an updo.

“B, you already look ravishing,” Veronica gushed. “I don’t know if we even have to fix your hair!”

Veronica was the best cheerleader in the universe.  “Thanks, V.”

Polly, however, was ever practical and prim. “She _does_ look very pretty, but anyone can do with a bit of a nip and tuck here or there.”

Betty had to stifle her laughter, especially when Veronica’s eyes rolled ever so slightly, but Veronica was a loving person, so she picked up exactly where Polly wanted her to. “Her hair is lovely, so we’re going to show it off,” Veronica told the stylist. “Also, I’d like to show off her shoulders and her girls--just look at the lift on those breasts. We also have to make sure to keep her hair away from her face, because that face has nothing to be ashamed of.”

Betty laughed at Veronica’s instructions, and Jellybean had to roll her eyes on principle.

“Let’s do some asymmetric braiding,” Polly suggested. “And have some flowers in it. Not too made up, because my sister is such a free spirit. She travels space, you know. She’s an adventurer, really.”

Betty appreciated how Polly described her. Her brilliant sister wanted things done a certain way, but Betty could not help but love her fully for being the way she was. Polly only ever wanted the best for her family.

Betty felt the upwelling of emotions again--probably the hormones.  

With some expertly styled braiding, her hair was made up in just a few minutes, and with her hair and makeup done, they assisted her into her dress.

It was an a-line dress, with just enough lace to make it look like a dream, with a tube top that showed off her shoulders, making it fresh and bold. The white-beige of her dress had a whisper of pink and orange that over-layed the beautiful lace patterns, and was dotted here and there with sparkling crystals that twinkled when they met light, because these elements reminded her of space clouds and stars, and it’s what brought her and Jughead together, and just because she loved a cowboy, her bridal shoes were booties. The cowboy hat would come out later, at the reception.  

“You’re a knockout, B,” Jellybean said, nodding at her image in the mirror. “I still can’t believe my brother landed a chick like you.”

“Oh, stop,” Veronica sighed. “Jughead’s got incredible sex appeal, and he looks so handsome. I saw him earlier. I can’t wait for you to see him, Betty.”

Jellybean gagged, even as she helped pin some flowers in Betty’s hair.

Betty wanted to give Jellybean a tight hug, but refrained, knowing that Jellybean would be horrified.

When everything was in place and her bridesmaids were called out to walk down the aisle, Chic joined her in the chamber, grinning at her in his tux.

“You look ready to get married,” Chic said, a fond grin on his face.

Betty started feeling emotional again. She could hardly believe that Chic was here, sober, and that he was going to walk her down the aisle.  “I should think so. I’m in a wedding dress.”

“Smart ass.”

She laughed, and it felt interesting, this brother who was suddenly acting like he was the older sibling, like the guy that Jughead has had a couple of late night talks with, just because. It was strange, but in a good way.

Chic sighed and shook his head. “It’s happening, isn’t it? I’m becoming my true self: boring. God, this sober business is such a--”

“Chic,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “You’re still in transition. You first started taking drugs when you were sixteen--you barely knew who you were, then. Right now, you don’t _know_ who you are sober. If I were you, I’d give myself a break and just relax. Take all of it in.”

He threw back his head and chuckled quietly. “I can’t believe my little sister is giving _me_ life advice on _her_ wedding day. It’s official. I am the King of Inconsiderate.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, believe me, I had my own mess to fix. We all did what we had to do to escape our troubles, Chic. You did drugs, I obsessively tried to build castles, and Polly turned to way too many diet fads, workouts, cults, and quack religions. If you stay sober, we all get to benefit from the gains we’ve all made. I mean, look at you now. You’re walking me down the aisle. I’m so happy you’re here.”

There was a quiver in Chic’s breath as he nodded. The door creaked open and Aalimah peeked through. “It’s showtime, my dear.”

Chic swallowed. “Are you ready, Betty?”

Betty had to stop herself from giggling. Chic was far more nervous than she was. “Ready.”

He looped her arm around his and together, they walked out of the chamber and out into the open air.

 

******************

 

Jughead looked across the dias and met eyes with Jellybean, who promptly stuck her tongue out at him while making a face.

“God, you can put a dress on her and she’s still a helion,” Jughead muttered.

Beside him, FP laughed just beneath the soothing guitar music in the background. “That’s the Gladys in her, boy.  Like, look at your mother right now. I bet she’s got a switchblade hidden somewhere in that outfit.”

Gladys, seated at the front row, was wearing a dark blue, three-piece tux and black, pointy high heeled shoes. Her hair was styled on one side and her makeup was a stunning silver palette. To be honest, Jughead thought she was badass, and Gladys wasn’t even trying. This was just the way she was, and he appreciated that, but of course FP grumbled about it, which was just how they were with each other.  

Jughead could only be glad that they were both here and trying their best to get along.

Alice, while in contrast feminine with her gold-thread long dress, capped sleeves, rich floral print and silver satin sash, managed to look incredibly formidable with the addition of a richly trimmed _cape,_ of all things. She looked like she had a garotte in her sparkly gold clutch.

FP, for all his faults, never shied away from tough women.

The set up was beautiful, with soft overhead lights illuminating the small space that accommodated their small group of guests.  The aisle was decorated with lovely sprays of flowers and a beautiful carpet to mark it. But the real beauty was in the sky and the view around them.

They were by the lake, overlooking a skyline of glowing temples, with beautifully ornate spires and dancing lights and shadows.  Overhead, the ribbons of light, the Veils Bal Athuria was known for came and faded, adding to the beautiful ambience.

Jughead could smell the fragrance of the incense and scented candles, soothing the low buzz in his nerves.  

The guitar music shifted to a more melodic tune, and the frenetic energy in his belly began to settle. Betty appeared at the end of the aisle, a stunningly beautiful bride in her gorgeous gown. It was well worth the time she took choosing the dress, knowing that every detail of it meant something to her, down to the crystals and colors, but Jughead couldn’t get over how her eyes shone and how her smile was radiant. She looked so happy, and it made him breathless.

When she reached the dias, she cast Chic an affectionate look and pressed a kiss to her brother’s cheek before letting him take her hands.

“Hey, Juggie,” she whispered.

He was beginning to feel overwhelmed, his throat tightening, and the only thing he could manage was, “Hey, baby.”

She bit her lip, grinning, probably sympathizing. They were both in this, they were both emotional. They’d been through so much, fought so many battles to get here, and now it was happening, and it almost didn’t matter what the officiant said.

Over the last few weeks, Jughead kept looking back to her first day on the ship, and then the tenth, and then the weeks and months that followed. Falling for each other was easy, getting through the pain was hard, and everyday is still about them navigating unfamiliar territory at certain turns, but they knew how to do it together, and that was what always got them through.

What Aalimah said was true. Marrying was the easy part, staying married is where it really gets tough, but Jughead couldn’t be afraid of what was ahead, because he and Betty had weathered some of the toughest situations.

When they spoke their vows, his voice didn’t tremble in the least, neither did hers, and they smiled at one another, slipping each other’s wedding bands around their fingers. And when they were pronounced husband and wife, he had her in his arms, their lips pressed together, with the galaxy shimmering around them.

The promise of months finally came to pass and he was married to Betty Cooper-Jones.

 

**********************

 

To get to the reception area, they and all their guests had to alight boats that would float gently to the other side of the lake.  As they got in the boats, monks distributed paper lanterns, each decorated with the patterns of the universe, unlit candles settled at its base.

“Think of your best intentions for today,” the monks instructed. “Then light the candle and offer the message up into sky.”

There were several other monks and spiritual women boarding boats of their own and carrying their own lamps.

As the boats were rowed out by their respective boatmen, their guests excitedly hundled on their seats and thought of their wishes.

Betty and Jughead had a boat all to themselves, and Betty tucked herself close into Jughead side as she closed her eyes and dreamed.

Betty could barely contain the grin on her face, thinking about how her wishes were about love and family, old and new, what she hoped for with her engine, and what she wanted with the life growing inside her.

Jughead stayed silent beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her close.

She and Jughead were still thinking on their intentions when the first few lanterns began to rise up in the air.

Betty lit her lantern but held it. “Ready for your wish, Juggie?”

He nodded, lighting the candle. “Ready.”

Together, they let their lanterns go, and as the lamps rose higher above the lake, the orange lights reflected above the water. The patterns on the lanterns were beautiful, and so many at once--it was a wondrous sight. It was also a transcendent feeling, knowing that so many hopes and dreams were floating above them, casting their light on them all.

Betty wrapped her arms around Jughead, who rubbed her waist affectionately, his fingers tracing the patterns of lace on her dress.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Betty said, the pinpricks of light contrasting beautifully with the colors rippling in the dark sky above them.

He made a sound of assent. “I didn’t wish for anything, you know. I already have everything I want. And whatever happens, I know we’ll get through it together, good or bad.”

She craned her neck and pressed a kiss on his cheek. She loved him more than life itself and she couldn’t think of a better time to tell him her new secret, than now. “Well, _I_ wished for something.”

He chuckled and looked down to meet her gaze. “What did you wish for? I’ll go to the ends of the universe to make it happen.”

She smiled up at him. “That my pregnancy is an easy one. That the baby comes out healthy--boy or girl. And oh, maybe that the 4/2 engine doesn’t conk out on me at its first test run, but I’ll give that wish up for the first two to be true.”

She wasn’t even done speaking and his eyes were already tearing up. “Betty.”

Her heart melted at his watery gaze and his struggle for words. She wiped any tears that strayed onto his cheek with her thumb but found that her eyes were stinging fiercely, too.

“Are you, really?” he stammered. “I mean--”

She laughed through her own tears. “I wouldn’t joke about that.”

“I know, just--” He took a deep breath, perhaps to control his emotions. “I know you got a bunch of other plans--”

“They’re still there, but I want this baby.”

When he kissed her, their tears mingled, and if it was possible to pull closer together, they did, amidst the lights, the music, the tinkle of water, and the constant buzz of guests.

“I love you,” he whispered against their lips.

“I love you, too.”

They held one another, foreheads pressed together, and enjoying this moment of intimate joy.

The night was just beginning, with dinner, dancing, and cake, but through some unspoken agreement, they kept the news of the baby to themselves. The wedding was there for them to share with all their family and friends, but this they wanted for themselves, at least for now.

There was no need to talk about how Jughead fielded all the wine, or how she needed a conscientious supply of water, or how, when dancing the swing, the gentle sway and the firm clasp of his hands were the way to go instead of the pointed pops and vigorous swirls.

“I went roller derbying this way, you know. I was fine,” she told him, grinning. The cowboy hat was on her head now, much to Alice’s silent disapproval.

“I know,” he said, smiling at her upturned face, spinning her gently and then catching her by the waist when he dipped her.

She held onto the hat before transferring it to his head. “We’re going to argue about this the rest of the 36 weeks, aren’t we?”

He shrugged as he stood her back on her feet. “Probably.”

In fairness, he looked mildly apologetic and she couldn’t possibly be mad at him right now.

“We’ll talk about it. We always do.”

He smirked as he spun them both. “We always do.”

 

Fin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, there’s going to be more. Did you think I would leave it at that?


End file.
